FROM A PAINTING BY GEOFFROY. ENGRAVED FOR ST. NICHIOLAS BY PERMISSION OF THE ARTIST.

tW-J S '.

ST. NICHOLAS.

VOL. XVII.

SEPTEMBER, 1890.

IN A POET'S WORKSHOP.

By ANNIE ISABEL WILLIS.

IN his poem "Contentment," Dr. Oliver
Wendell Holmes says humorously:
Little I ask; my wants are few;
I only wish a hut of stone
(A verypflain brownstone will do),
That I may call my own;-
And close at hand is such a one,
In yonder street that fronts the sun.

His wish came very nearly true many years
ago, and on a bright day last October I climbed
the flight of steps leading to the plain brick
house covered with Japanese ivy on Beacon
Street, in the aristocratic Back Bay district of
Boston, where the poet lives. The silver rim
which encircles the bell is engraved with his
name. I was rather nervous, to say the least,
for I was going to ask for an interview," which,
in newspaper parlance means the right not only
to take down and publish all that the person in-
terviewed may say, but to describe his appear-
ance and surroundings. A man could n't be
blamed if he inwardly wished to show every in-
terviewer the way to the door, and, believing this,
I was by no means certain what my reception
would be, though an introduction from one of Dr.
Holmes's friends was my excuse for venturing.
But I rang the bell as boldly as if it were not
attached to the house of a poet, and was ush-

ered into the reception-room to wait while my
note and card were taken to Dr. Holmes, as he
sat at luncheon.
The reception-room was tastefully furnished,
and a beautiful carved secretary stood between
the windows. On the cabinet mantel was a silver
loving-cup which attracted my attention, and
this, as I afterward learned through a letter
from Dr. Holmes, was presented to him, at the
time of his resigning his Professorship, by the
medical class before which he had lectured.
Presently the maid returned and said to two
men who were doing some work in the room,
" Please go out for a few minutes. The Doctor
is coming in here," as if her master was not even
to be looked at by everybody who had happened
to be in the house. The men obeyed, and I
was left alone, not at all eased in mind by this
episode; but while I was thinking He must
be very formidable," the door swung ajar and
a little white-haired gentleman came in with a
pleasant bow.
"Will you come up to my library ? was the
cordial invitation. I gladly obeyed, and the fa-
mous man who has seen eighty summers led the
way up softly carpeted stairs as nimbly as if he
were half a century younger. Dark, polished
folding-doors at the rear of the upper hall opened

Copyright, r890, by THE CENTURY Co. All rights reserved.

No. II.

[SEPT.

IN A POET'S WORKSHOP.

into the library, which is at the back of the house.
This room has a huge bay-window which the
poet calls
My airy oriel on the river shore.

He is very fond of the view of the Charles River,
and speaks of my window as if it were one of
his choicest possessions. He may well find it en-
joyable, for it gives an extended view, and in the
distance can be seen, on a clear day, Brighton,
Watertown, Waltham, Arlington, Charlestown,
Cambridge, Chelsea, Somerville, and other towns
near the city. Cambridge, you know, is the
seat of Harvard, the oldest college in America,
and there Dr. Holmes has been both pupil
and professor. In Cambridge, too, was the
famous old elm under which Washington stood
to take command of the American army, July
3, 1775. In 1861, Dr. Holmes wrote of this
tree:
Eighty years have passed, and more,
Since under the brave old tree
Our fathers gathered in arms, and swore
They would follow the sign their banners bore,
And fight till the land was free.*

Cambridge can also lay claim to distinction
because so many notable men have lived or
have been educated there. It is the birthplace
of Dr. Holmes. Unfortunately, the bank of the
Charles, opposite Dr. Holmes's house, is covered
with factories. He says he hopes that in time
a better class of buildings will front the shore.
But factories cannot lessen the beauty of the
flowing river, and the sight of it doubtless re-
minds the poet of his long life, for the river is a
link which joins his past with his present.
During my visit Dr. Holmes said: You must
not forget to look out of my window! It is a
sight worth any one's interest, because it is so
suggestive. The Charles River has been be-
loved and celebrated by some of our best known
writers, and one cannot look at it without being
reminded of them.
Next to a bay-window, the most attractive
spot in any room is the open fireplace if it be
fortunate enough to have one. This "poet's
workshop had; but when we went in the fire
had died down into dull embers. The vigor

with which Dr. Holmes went to work to make
it up, even joking and laughing about it, would
afford a good object-lesson to the boys and girls
-not to speak of the grown people- who
in a like state of things would find occasion to
grumble. But Dr. Holmes is a physician of
the mind as well as of the body-and he knows
that, mentally and physically, grumbling does n't
pay.
When the fire blazed again, and he had
given it a poking, as he says he is fond of do-
ing, he re-read his note, asked after the writer
of it, to whom he sent a kind message, and
chatted pleasantly for a few minutes; then sit-
ting down in a luxurious green velvet rocking-
chair before the fire, and, putting his feet on the
shining fender, settled himself for an "interview."
He is used to the infliction, of course. Proba-
bly few men living have had to face more re-
porters, and he knows precisely what to say.
Dr. Holmes during an interview and Dr.
Holmes after one, are two different persons.
From the time he sat down to be interviewed,"
until my note-book was closed, he answered
questions,- no more; but the instant the pen-
cil was laid aside he began to talk of other
things with evidently much more relish than
when he was speaking about himself.
Perhaps ambitious young writers will take
warning by an opinion he expressed,- that there
is little money to be earned by young authors
from writing poetry, and that the poet should
have some regular occupation besides that of
writing verses.
But what of the workshop in which I sat
that sunny October afternoon ? Many descrip-
tions have been written of it of its rich green
velvet-covered furniture, its thick crimson car-
pet, its pictures and ornaments and books. But
descriptions which go no further do not give the
right idea of it, because the air of the room does
not depend on these things. Apart from any
effect of material or arrangement, one can per-
ceive that the room is pervaded by dignified
age, taste, and culture. I do not remember
being impressed by any one feature of the room
or its furniture, but the impression of the harmo-
nious whole is very vivid. Dr. Holmes's writing-

* The quotations from Dr. Holmes's poems in this article are printed by kind permission of
Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co.

goo

IN A POET'S WORKSHOP.

table stands in the center of the floor. It is
large, and has a flat-top, at which both he and
his secretary can work; and, when I saw it, was
in beautiful order--another object-lesson for
those who believe disorder a sign of genius!

they deceive themselves They do not know the
energy that may remain in a man after even
eighty years of life, provided it be a good life,
as his has been. This year's Atlantic Monthly
contains a department called Over the Tea-.

......

,f' ^,. .. '

DR. OLIVER WENDELL HOLIES IN HIS LIBRARY. FROMI A 1'HOTOGRAPH BY THE NOTMAN PHOTOGRAPHIC CO., BOSTON.)

In his every motion it was easy to see that
much of the vigor that wrote Old Ironsides"
-the first piece which called attention to the
poet in his youth-still remains. The eyes that
have looked so long on the world still twinkle
with fun, though they are somewhat dimmed
by age. If any think that his work is done,

Cups," the work of the wise and witty "Auto-
crat of the breakfast table."
There is one poem of Dr. Holmes's-perhaps
less often praised than some which are better
known which gives a very sweet picture of his
early home-life. While The Chambered Nau-
tilus," The Last Leaf," and "The Deacon's

~--~---.
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IN A POET'S WORKSHOP.

Masterpiece" are often quoted, this pretty bit
of description and incident is less noticed. It
is "The Opening of the Piano." I read it
somewhere when a child and never forgot the
story of it, though it was long before I was in-
terested in the personality of the author. The
poem has been even more of a favorite since I
learned from its writer that it recounts a true
incident; the event having happened in his
boyhood home in Cambridge. He paints the
scene with a loving touch.
In the little southern parlor of the house you may have
seen
With the gambrel-roof, and the gable looking westward
to the green,
At the side toward the sunset, with the window on its
right,
Stood the London-made piano I am dreaming of to-night!

Ah me! how I remember the evening when it came!
What a cry of eager voices, what a group of cheeks in
flame,
When the wondrous box was opened that had come from
over seas,
With its smell of mastic-varnish and its flash of ivory
keys !

Then the children all grew fretful in the restlessness of
joy;
For the boy would push his sister, and the sister crowd
the boy,
Till the father asked for quiet in his grave paternal way,
But the mother hushed the tumult with the words, Now,
Mary, play."

For the dear soul knew that music was a very sovereign
balm;
She had sprinkled it over Sorrow, and had seen its brow
grow calm,
In the days of slender harpsichords with tapping tink-
ling quills,
Or caroling to her spinet with its thin metallic thrills.

So Mary, the household minstrel, who always loved to
please,
Sat down to the new Clementi," and struck the glitter-
ing keys.
Hushed were the children's voices, and every eye grew
dim,
As, floating from lip and finger, arose the "Vesper
Hymn."

Catherine, child of a neighbor, curly and rosy-red
(Wedded since, and a widow,-something like ten years
dead),
Hearing a gush of music such as none before,
Steals from her mother's chamber and peeps at the open
door.

Just as the "Jubilate in threaded whisper dies,
" Open it! open it, lady the little maiden cries
(For she thought 't was a singing creature caged ina box
she heard),
"Open it! open it, lady! and let me see the bird!"

Dr. Holmes believes thoroughly in the cele-
bration of Arbor Day, that holiday of national
interest which has become so popular since the
cause has been taken up by young people. He
said, "The idea of Arbor Day seems a very
pleasing one, and, as it encourages the planting
of trees, I think posterity will be grateful for it."
And he has written on the same subject, When
we plant a tree we are doing what we can to
make our planet a more wholesome and happier
dwelling-place for those who come after us, if not
for ourselves. You have been warned against
hiding your talent in a napkin, but if your talent
takes the form of a maple-key or an acorn, and
your napkin is a shred of the apron that covers
' the lap of the earth,' you may hide it there, un-
blamed, and when you render in your account,.
you will find that your deposit has been draw-
ing compound interest all the time." Elsewhere
he has said, "I have written many verses, but the
best poems I have produced are the trees I have
planted." This warm commendation and hearty
approval will be aninspiration to young people -
whether they write verses or not and may
bear good fruit for the great movement to
preserve trees.
Years ago Dr. Holmes wrote, in "The Poet
at the Breakfast-table," "There is no mere
earthly immortality I envy so much as the
poet's. If your name is to live at all, it is so
much more to have it live in people's hearts
than only in their brains! I don't know that
one's eyes fill with tears when he thinks of the
famous inventor of logarithms; but a song of
Bums's or a hymn of Charles Wesley's goes
straight to your heart, and you can't help loving
both of them, the sinner as well as the saint.
The works of other men live, but their per-
sonality dies out of their labors; the poet who
reproduces himself in his creation, as no other
artist does or can, goes down to posterity with
all his personality blended with whatever is im-
perishable in his song."
It is sixty years since the author of these lines
began to write for the public, and no American

[SEPT.

1890.] IN A POETS

poet has a higher place in the affections of his
countrymen. His humorous poems delight us,
and his patriotic verses stir the blood like mar-
tial music. Sixty years of the pen and it is not
yet idle! If ever a man preached the gospel of
happiness and industry it is Dr. Holmes; and
there is nothing more wholesome than bright-
ness and cheerfulness and laughter. All lovers
of true humor must be grateful to the man who
wrote "The One-Hoss Shay," "The Boys,"
"The Last Leaf," "Evening, by a Tailor," and
"The Height of the Ridiculous!"
One more incident of my visit and I have
done. On the daythat I saw him, Dr. Holmes

4 P-

MR-
O. .4 POND.

ON\ THE POND.

t

WORKSHOP. 903

talked forcibly of celebrity hunters and asked,
" Why should a man who has written a book or
two be tormented by people who want to look
at him or get his autograph ? Now, don't
think I mean you," he added apologetically.
Then he told of ways in which he had been
annoyed for autographs. Of course I did not
dare to say autograph to him after that; but
he must have divined my unexpressed wish to
possess his autograph for when his secretary
wrote out a list of the real names of "The
Boys" described in his poem so entitled, to
be mailed to me, the kind-hearted old man was
careful to add his full signature.

GREAT OCEAN WAVES.

BY W. J. HENDERSON.

EVERY winter when the captains of ocean
steamers coming into port relate their experi-
ences with the boisterous Atlantic, we read
about vessels meeting with certain especially
large waves, which do a great deal of damage.
Usually the paragraph in the morning paper
reads somewhat like this:
"The Steamship Van Brunt' arrived yesterday after
an exceedingly rough trip of fourteen days from South-
ampton. Capt. Fisher says that in his twenty-two years'
experience he never encountered such weather. On
Jan. 23, in latitude 470 22' north and longitude 380 56'
west, the ship was struck by a tidal wave, which bent in
her forward turtle-back, carried away her starboard fish-
davit, and threw John Finley, seaman, aged forty-three,
against the starboard rail, breaking his leg and inflicting
internal injuries. The remainder of the voyage was
without striking incident."
At other times the paragraph reads more nearly
in this style:
"The steamer Barbaric' arrived yesterday after a re-
markably quick winter passage. She left Queenstown
on Jan. 27 at 4 P. M., and reached Sandy Hook yester-
day at 4 o'clock. This makes her actual time 6 days
19 hours. On Jan. 30, in latitude 430 50' north and
longitude 490 20' west, in perfectly clear and smooth
weather, the ship was struck by an enormous tidal wave,
which threw her nearly on her beam-ends, smashed in her
port rail, and bent the heavy stanchions as if they had
been pins."
No winter goes by without the publication of
such reports, and naturally we come to believe
that tidal waves are common occurrences at sea.
In the face of these repeated statements by
steamship captains it may seem audacious to
declare that there is no such thing as a tidal
wave; but that is the fact. That is to say, it is
a fact that there is no such thing as a tidal wave
in the common meaning given to those words.
The tidal wave is a slow, small, mild, and benefi-
cent movement of the waters, and is absolutely
imperceptible in mid-ocean, where such dreadful
doings are credited to it.

There are four kinds of waves at sea, called
wind waves, storm waves, earthquake waves, and
tidal waves; and it is always one of the first two
that does the damage to ships. First, then, let.
us dismiss the foolish misapplication of the title
"tidal wave."
The tidal wave, as its name implies, is caused
by the passage of the tide. It is simply a ver-
tical displacement of the entire body of water
on one part of the earth, and not a mere local
disturbance of the surface. As Captain Lecky
has stated it in his "Wrinkles in Practical
Navigation," The general motion of the tides.
consists in an alternate vertical rise and fall,
and horizontal flow and ebb, occupying an aver-
age period of half a lunar day, or about 12
hours and 25 minutes. This vertical movement
is transmitted from place to place in the seas,
like an ever-recurring series of very long and
swift waves." When it is high water on one
side of the earth, it is high water on the other
side; and at the points half-way between it is.
low water. If the reader will look at the dia-
gram he will understand this more readily.
The shaded part represents the earth, and the
unshaded part the ocean waters. At A and A
it is high tide, while at B
A
and B it is low tide. The
elevations marked A are
( the tidal waves, and they
B are continually passing
around the earth, one of
them being under the moon,
and the other at the point
A opposite. The action of the
moon and the sun in producing the tidal waves
need not be discussed here. All that I desire to
establish is a correct understanding of what a-
tidal wave is. Now, as the moon passes around
the earth once in twenty-five hours and the
earth is about 25,000 miles in circumference,

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IN MID-OCEAN.. A GREAT WAVE.

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GREAT OCEAN WAVES.

the tidal wave travels iooo miles an hour.
This is its actual rate of speed in the open sea;
but where land impedes its progress it moves
much more slowly, sometimes making no more
than fifty miles an hour. You understand, of
course, that this tidal wave is what we com-
monly speak of as the rise and fall of the
tide. In mid-ocean its height is about four
feet. In land-locked seas it is less. In some
bays, however, where there is a wide opening
directly in the course of the advancing or reced-
ing tidal wave, the rise and fall is much greater.
Chepstow in the Bristol Channel, Mont St. Mi-
chel in the Gulf of St. Malo, Dungeness Spit,
near Cape Virgins, and the Basin of Minas at the
head of the Bay of Fundy, are mentioned by
Captain Lecky as places famous for great rise
and fall. In the last-named place it sometimes
amounts to seventy feet. No one ever hears
of tidal waves on the Lakes; yet they are
there. That of Lake Michigan has been care-
fully measured, and found to be I3 inches
high. The only sort of wave having danger-
ous characteristics that are caused by the tide
is what is known as a bore." This is an ad-
vance of the tide up the river in the form of a
breaker. It is caused by the resistance of the
rapid river current, confined between its banks,
to the body of water advancing from the ocean.
Now we come to wind waves, which, as the
reader will readily understand, are caused by
the action of the wind on the surface of the
water. Water is but slightly compressible, and
the wind blowing against the surface makes an
indentation, causing an elevation elsewhere.
The harder the wind the deeper the indentations
and the higher the waves. Lieutenant Qual-
trough, in his excellent "Sailor's Handy-Book,"
says: Many attempts have been made to con-
struct a mathematical theory of wave motion,
and thence to deduce the probable behavior
of ships at sea." The modern theory is called
the trochoidal, a 'name derived from a curve
called the trochoid, which curve is supposed to
represent the profile of the perfect wave. Let
it be supposed," says Lieutenant Qualtrough,
" that, after a storm has subsided, a voyager in
mid-ocean meets with a series of waves, all of
which are approximately of the same form and
dimensions; these would constitute a single series

such as the trochoidal theory contemplates."
Of course, as the lieutenant takes care to point
out, an ordinary seaway does not consist of such
geometrically regular waves, but is made up of
billows of varying form and dimensions. But
sometimes the conditions assumed are fulfilled;
and from the investigation of their motions it is
possible to pass to the case of a confused sea."
Many measurements and observations of waves
have, therefore, been made. The longest wave
observed was measured by Captain Mottez, of
the French navy, in the North Atlantic, and
had a length of 2720 feet-half a mile from
crest to crest." A wave 1920 feet long was ob-
served by Sir James Rose, and 1320 feet is the
length which has been noted in the Bay of Biscay.
All sorts of nonsense has been written about
waves "mountains high." The truth is that
when a ship is plunging down the back of one
wave and is at the same time heeled over till
her rail is close to the water, the next wave
looks as if it would sweep completely over the
vessel and therefore appears as big as a moun-
tain. Lieutenant Qualtrough says: "We find
reports of heights of 1oo feet from hollow to
crest, but no verified measurement exists of a
height half as great as this. The highest reliable
measurements are from 44 to 48 feet -in itself
a very remarkable height.. Waves having a
greater height than thirty feet are not often
encountered." The height of wind waves is
governed by what is called the "fetch." That
means their distance from the place where their
formation begins. Thomas Stevenson, author
of "Lighthouse Illumination," and father of
the well-known writer of our day, Robert Louis
Stevenson, gives the following formula as ap-
plicable when the fetch is not less than six sea
miles: "The height of the wave in feet is equal
to 1.5 multiplied by the square root of the fetch
in nautical miles." Let us suppose that in a gale
of wind the waves began to form 400 miles from
the ship you are on. The square root of 400 is
20, which multiplied by 1.5 gives 30 feet as the
height of the waves around the ship.
Now, it is well known that in every storm
there are occasionally groups of three or four
waves considerably larger than the others.
Captain Lecky is of the opinion that these are
caused by the increased force of the wind in the

906

[SEPT.

GREAT OCEAN WAVES.

squalls which are a feature of every big blow.
Now, waves travel at a rate which is the result
of their size. Waves 200 feet long from hollow
to hollow travel about 19 knots per hour; those
of 400 feet in length make 27 knots; and those
of 600 feet rush forward irresistibly at 32
knots. Let us suppose, now, a wave
400 feet in length and 38 or 40
feet high rushing along at
27 knots. It overtakes
a slower wave making
about 20 knots, with
a height of 25 feet -
and a length of
200. The two
seas become one,
forming at the
moment of their
union an enor-
mouswave. Just
at that moment
they meet one of
those steamers
called "ocean
greyhounds,"
which, as every
one knows, nev-
er slacken speed
unless it is abso-
lutely necessary
for safety. She
is butting into
the storm at the
rate of say eight knots an hour.
She runs plump against a great
wall of water which seems to
rise suddenly out of the general
tumult, rushing at her with a
height of 45 feet or more and
a speed of over 30 miles per hour. There is a
fearful crash forward, accompanied by a deluge,
and as the tons of water roll off the forecastle
deck, it is found that damage has been done, and
the officers on watch enter in the log the in-
teresting fact that the steamer has been struck
by a tidal wave."
Now let us consider the big sea which strikes
the vessel in calm weather; but before doing so
I must briefly describe the storm wave which I
have mentioned. This can best be done by

quoting directly the words of Captain Lecky, who
is my authority for most of the facts presented
in this article. "On the outer or anticyclone
edge of hurricanes the barometer stands abnor-
mally high, indicative of great atmospheric press-
ure; whilst at the center or
vortex the mercury
falls unusually
low; and,
accord-
ingly,

THE EARTHQUAKE WAVE AT ST. THOMAS.
(SEE NEXT PAGE.)
there the pressure is least. Between the center and
outer edge a difference of five inches in the height
of the mercury has been recorded; equal to a dif-
ference of pressure of 354 pounds on the square
foot of surface at these two places. It will read-

X89o.]

907

GREAT OCEAN WAVES.

ily be seen that the effect of this encircling belt
of high pressure and internal area of low press-
ure, coupled with the incurving of the wind, is
to produce a heaping up of the water under the
body of the cyclone, whose highest point is nec-
essarily at the center, where it is, so to speak,
sucked up." And that is all that is meant by
storm wave simply the elevation of the sea's
surface at the center of a cyclone, which elevation
advances with the storm. I may add that it has
been known to cause wide and devastating floods.
Earthquake waves, which are those most fre-
quently misnamed tidal waves, arise from causes
wholly different from those which produce the
other varieties. Neither the winds nor the tides
have anything to do with these waves. They
are produced by subterranean convulsions, which
lift or otherwise agitate the surface of the
earth on the borders of an ocean, or the earth
which forms its bottom, and so disturb the
waters. When the upheaval of the earth takes
place along the shore, it lifts the water up on
its back, and the water running off leaves the
bottom exposed for a long distance. Sometimes
vessels which were at anchor in bays before the
upheaval are left hard and fast aground. Now
the water forced off shore in this manner does
not remain away. When the earthquake shock
has passed, the water comes back, rearing up in
a fearful wall, and forming a breaker of appall-
ing size, which carries death and destruction in
its path. I remember readingof an occurrence of
this kind at the island of St. Thomas. The re-
turning breaker was over forty feet high, and it
broke inland, destroying much property and
causing many deaths. So tremendous was this
breaker that it landed a large vessel on a hillside
half a mile from the harbor, where, I have been
recently told, the wreck was still to be seen.
But these breakers are always spoken of in the
newspapers as tidal waves."
If an uplifting of the earth should take place
under the ocean, it would produce one of those
big waves which vessels meet with sometimes in
calm weather and which are always described
as "tidal." Strange things happen at sea.
They are strange to us who pass our lives on

land because they are beyond the pale of our
experience and observation and we can not read-
ily account for them. The ordinary sailor,
while no more able to explain these phenomena
of the great deep than the landsman, becomes
familiar with them and they do not astonish him.
Even a new wonder at sea does not astound
the sailor as it does the landsman, because
the former knows that the ocean is the home of
strange mysteries. Captain Lecky, in speaking
of the effect of submarine shocks at sea, says:
" In one instance which came under the writer's
observation, the inkstand on the captain's table
was jerked upward against the ceiling, where
it left an unmistakable record of the occurrence;
and yet this vessel was steaming along in smooth
water, many hundreds of fathoms deep. The
concussions were so smart that passengers were
shaken off their seats, and, of course, thought
that the vessel had run ashore. When the non-
elastic nature of water is considered, there will
be no difficulty in understanding how such an
effect could be produced." If you wish to try
a little experiment which will illustrate this, sim-
ply fill a dish-pan with water and either rap
smartly on its bottom or bend the bottom in-
ward. You will see how the surface of the
water is disturbed by this earthquake upheaval
of the bottom. This is similar to the effect pro-
duced by a subterranean convulsion under the
sea. Yet when one of these earthquake waves
comes along and does damage, the harm is laid to
the credit of the "tidal wave," which is a harm-
less and indeed beneficent provision of nature.
Even the newspapers, in speaking of a political
candidate who is defeated by an overwhelming
majority, say that he has been engulfed in a
"tidal wave." And the sea-captain, who ought
to know better, reports to the hydrographic of-
fice that away out in latitude and longitude
something or other, his vessel was struck by a
"tidal wave." Whereas the truth is that, in a
storm, ninety-nine times out of one hundred it is
simply an unusually large wind wave which
strikes the ship, and the one-hundredth time it
is caused by an earthquake. In calm weather
it is always the earthquake wave.

908

LADY JANE.

By MRS. C. V. JAMISON.

N'8

THE MARDI-GRAS PROCESSION. THE BCZUF GRAS. (SEE PAGE 914.)

CHAPTER XVI.
BEFORE AND AFTER MARDI-GRAS.
TITE SOURIS had happened to pass Gex's little
shop one day while Lady Jane was taking her
lesson, and from that moment the humorous
darky could never speak of the little dancing-
master without loud explosions of laughter.
" Oh, Laws, Miss Peps', I wish you jes' done
seed little' Mars Gex a-stan'in' up wid he toes
turn' out, so he look lak he on'y got one foot, an'
he coat held up un'er he arms, an' he hands jes'
so,"-here Tite caught the sides of her scant
skirt, in ridiculous imitation of the attitude of
the dancing master,-" a-steppin' an' a-hoppin'
an' a-whirlin', an' a-smilin' wid he eyes shet, jes'

Nonsense, Tite, go away! cried Pepsie, as n
laughing till the tears came at her handmaid's Hav
drollpantomime. "Ifwhatyou sayistrue, where uns
do you think you '11 go to? Have n't you been Gex
acting Mr. Gex, for Miss Lady, over and over, Miss
when she 's been repeating her dancing-lesson ".
to me ? Have n't you been standing right up Ole
on that floor, holding out your skirt, and danc- gwir
ing back and forth, and whirling, and prancing, 't air
And
I_ l 1i i i Ii j 1 l

*-i,--^------ ---7 X
.... -. lli -. ,

luch like Mr. Gex as you possibly could ?
e n't you now, Tite ? I 'm sure the gobble-
would be after you for making fun of Mr.
,before they would take a little angel like
SLady."
But I wa' jes' a-funnin', Miss Peps'. Dat
Boy know I wa' jes' a-funnin'; an' he ain't
se ter tote me off, w'en I ain't done no harm;
I'tlak I wasin earnest, yerknow, Miss Peps'."
with this nice distinction Tite comforted
herself and went on her way rejoicing.
About this time, Madame Jozain was
seized with a sudden spasm of piety, and
took to going to church again. However,
she kept at a discreet distance from Father
Ducro, who, at the time of the
death of the young widow,
Slu.d asked her some
'i- rather searching
S' questions,

"LADY JANE CLUNG TIGHTLY TO TIBURCE ON ONE SIDE AND TITE ON THE OTHER." (SEE PAGE gi-.)

[SEPT.

910

and several times, when he met her afterwards,
had remarked that she seemed to have given up
church-going. She was very glad, therefore,
when, about this time, she heard that he had been
sent to Cuba on some mission, and Madame
sincerely hoped that whatever the errand was
it would detain him there always.
One Sunday, it occurred to her that she ought
to take Lady Jane to church with her, and not
allow her to grow up like a heathen; and be-
sides, if Madame had confessed her true motive,
she felt that the child, dressed in her best, had
an air of distinction, which would add greatly
to the elegant appearance Madame desired to
make.
Pepsie had a knack of dressing Lady Jane as
Madame never could, so the little girl was sent
across the street to be made beautiful, with flow-
ing glossy hair and dainty raiment. And when
Madame, leading Lady Jane by the hand, with
a gentle maternal air, limped slowly up the
broad aisle of the cathedral, she felt perfectly
satisfied with herself and her surroundings.
Lady Jane had often been to church before,
but the immense interior, and the grand, solemn
notes of the organ, and the heavenly music of
the choir, always made a deep and lasting im-
pression upon her, and opened up to her new
vistas of life through which her pure little soul
longed to stray.
The musical nature is often a religious nature,
and in the child was a deep vein of piety, which
only needed working to produce the richest re-
sults; therefore, the greatest of all her pleasures
from that time was to go to church and listen to
the music, and afterward to tell Pepsie of all
she had seen and enjoyed, and to repeat as far
as was possible, with her small sweet voice,
the heavenly strains of the anthems she had
heard.
One morning,-it was the day before Mardi-
gras,"-when Lady Jane entered Pepsie's room,
instead of finding her friend engaged in her us-
ual occupation, the table was cleared of all that
pertained to business, and on it was spread a
quantity of pink cambric, which Pepsie was
measuring and snipping with great gravity.
Oh, Pepsie, what are you making ?" cried
Lady Jane, greatly surprised at this display of
finery.

"It 's a domino," replied Pepsie curtly, her
mouth full of pins.
A domino, a domino," repeated Lady Jane.
"What's a domino? I never saw one."
Of course, you never saw one, because you
never saw
Mardi-gras," -
said Pepsie -
removing the -":
pins,andsmil- ":-
ing to her-
self as she
smoothed the
pattern on
the cloth. \
"Mardi- ..
gras Is it for "'
that?" said (
Lady Jane.
"You might
tell me about _i
it. I don't -
know what s f
it 's for," she p"'-',
said, bewil- -r:'
dered, and
quite annoyed
by Pepsie's '
air of secrecy. \, .
"Well, it 's \DEONS,
AND ANGELS,
for some one CLOWNS AND MONKS, IMPS AND FAIRIES."
(SEE I'AGIi 914.)
to wear on ( PAG 9
Mardi-gras," replied Pepsie, still smiling ser-
enely, and with an exasperating air of mystery.
"Oh, Pepsie who, who is it for?" cried
Lady Jane, pressing close, and putting both
arms around her friend's neck; tell me, please;
do! If it's a secret I won't tell."
Oh, it's for a little girl I know," said Pepsie,
cutting and slashing the cambric with the great-
est indifference, and evidently bent on keeping
her own counsel.
Lady Jane stood still for a moment, letting
her arms fall from Pepsie's neck. Her face was
downcast, and something like a tear shone
on her lashes; then, a little slowly and thought-
fully, she climbed into her chair, and leaning
on her elbows, silently watched the absorbed
Pepsie.
Pepsie pinned, and snipped, and smoothed,

LADY JANE.

9li

912

[SEPT.

LADY JANE.

all the while smiling with that little air of un- This rather ambiguous explanation was quite
concern which so puzzled the child. Presently, satisfactory, and after a great many caresses
without looking up, she said: Pepsie went on to tell that Tante Modeste had
Can't you guess, Lady, who it 's for? been there very early, and that she had invited
Is n't it for Sophie Paichoux ? "
ventured Lad n- ---
N o, no,' -i-.-ti'e !.-: .le.i. ... .. ,----
"the one I rinl' I t) i -. -
relation to :,. :-, .. '.' -
"Then, I :l,). i-
know any olli lili hol -_.- '
girl. Oh, Pe-. i J /-- _
can't guess. "-,1'
SWhy, ,,iyou '
stupid, little .I. .
cried Pepsi, i, B ih-
ing aloud.
,,Oh, Pe p:. I, i "
is n't! is si :,s a: rs '
Lady Ja _' '"-:hI '. 'I ,
sparkled 110i11'i' i
and her "k '
face was '.
lit up by oe t. a
a joyful I w in g s .
sm ile. 'L '' '- ;"'
"Do you '"g'
m ean it 7'- '.1
for me ',' .
really, -
do you, '[ vi
Pepsie?"
Why,
ofcourse.
Do you .-
think I'd .
make it f.:o
any one, it p,.:~1
for you ? "
Oh, you dear, dar-
ling Pepsie But why did
n't you say so just at first ?
Why--why did you make SHE CRIED OUT PITIFULLY, 'IT 'S LADY JANE.'"
me-," she hesitated for a word, and
then added," why did you make me--jealous ? Lady Jane to go in her milk-cart, that after-
I only wanted to tease you a little," laughed noon, on Canal Street, to see the king of the
Pepsie. I wanted to see if you 'd guess right Carnival arrive. That the cans were to be
off. I thought you would know right away that taken out of the cart, and an extra seat was to
I did n't love any one else well enough to make be put in, so that all the young ones could take
a domino for her, and I wanted to try you." part in the glorious spectacle.

Then Pepsie waited for Lady Jane to get
her breath, before she finished telling her of
Tante Modeste's plans for the next day, the
long looked for Mardi-gras.
The little Paichoux wanted Lady Jane to see
everything; by some means, she must take an
active part in the festivities on Canal Street.
Children don't enjoy it half as well, at least
mine don't," said Tante Modeste, "if they 're
cooped up on a cart or in a gallery; so the best
way is to put a domino on them, and turn them
in with the crowd."
"But I 'm afraid for Lady," demurred Pep-
sie; "she might get frightened in such a crowd,
or she might get lost."
"You need n't be afraid of that, Tiburce is
going to take care of my young ones, and I 've
told him that he must hold fast to the child all
the time. Then, Tite can go, too. I've got an
old domino that '11 do for her, and she can keep
the child's hand fast on the other side. If they
keep together there 's no danger."
But perhaps Madame Jozain won't allow
her to go on Canal Street ? "
Yes, she will, she '11 be glad to get rid of
the care of the child. I just met her coming
from market; she had a cream cheese for
the little one. I guess she 's pretty good to her,
when it don't put her out. She says Madame
Hortense, the milliner, on Canal Street, is an
old friend of hers, and she 's invited her to come
and sit on her gallery and see the show, and
there 's no room for children, so she '11 be very
glad to have her niece taken care of, and it 's
so good of me, and all that. Oh, dear, dear, I
can't like that woman; I may be wrong, but
she 's a dose I can't swallow "-and Tante
Modeste shrugged her shoulders and laughed.
But Lady 's got no domino," said Pepsie,
ruefully, and I 'm afraid Madame Jozain
won't make her one."
"Never mind saying anything about it.
Here 's two bits; send Tite for some cambric,
and I '11 cut you a pattern in a minute. I 've
made so many, I know all about it; and, my
dear, you can sew it up through the day. Have
her ready by nilTe o'clock. I '11 be here by nine.
I 'm going to take them all up in the cart, and
turn them out, and they can come back to me
when they 're tired."
VOL. XVII.- 112.

In this way Tante Modeste surmounted all
difficulties, and the next morning, Lady Jane,
completely enveloped in a little pink domino,
with a tiny pink mask carefully fastened over
her rosy face, and her blue eyes wide with de-
light, was lifted into the milk-cart with the
brood of little Paichoux, and, with many good-
byes to poor, forlorn Pepsie, and to Tony, who
was standing dejectedly on one leg, the happy
child was rattled away in the bright sunlight,
through the merry, noisy crowd to that center
of every delight-Canal Street, on Mardi-gras.
There was no room for Tite Souris in the cart,
so that dusky maiden, arrayed in the colors of a
demon of darkness, an old red domino, with
black, bat-like wings, was obliged to take her-
self to the rendezvous, near the Clay statue, by
whatever means of locomotion she could com-
mand. When the cart was passing Rue Royale,
there was Tite in her uncanny disguise, flapping
her black wings, and scuttling along as fast as
her thin legs would carry her.
At last, the excited party in the milk-cart
and the model for a diabolical flying-machine
were together under Tante Modeste's severe
scrutiny, listening, with much divided attention,
to her final instructions.
"Tiburce, attend to what I tell you," she said,
impressively. You are the eldest of the party,
and you must take care of the little ones, espe-
cially of Lady Jane. Keep her hand in yours
all the time. Mind what I say- don't let go of
her. And you, Tite, keep on the other side,
and hold her hand fast. Sophie, you can go in
front with the two smallest, and the others can
follow behind. Now keep together, and go
along decently; no running or racketing on the
street, and as soon as the procession passes, you
had better come back to me. You will be
tired, and ready to go home. And Tite, re-
member what Miss Pepsie told you about Miss
Lady. If you let anything happen to her you
had better go and drown yourself."
Tite, with her wings poised for flight, prom-
ised everything, even to drowning herself, if
necessary; and before Tante Modeste had
climbed into her cart, the whole brood had
disappeared amongst the motley crowd.
At first, Lady Jane was a little frightened at
the noise and confusion; but she had a brave

z8go.]

LADY JANE.

[SEPT.

LADY JANE.

little heart, and clung tightly to Tiburce on one
side and Tite on the other. In a few moments
she was quite reassured, and as happy as any of
the merry little imps around her.
It was delightful; she seemed to be carried
along in a stream of riotous life, all disguised,
and decorated to suit their individual fancies.
There were demons and angels, clowns and
monks, imps and fairies, animals and birds, fish
and insects. In fact, everything that the rich-
est imagination could devise.
At first Tite Souris ambled along quite decor-
ously, making now and then a little essay at fly-
ing with her one free wing, which gave her a
curious, one-sided appearance, provoking much
mirth among the little Paichoux; but at length
restraint became irksome, and finally impossible.
She could bear it no longer, even if she died for
it. Ignoring all her promises, and the awful
reckoning in store for her, with one bound for
freedom she tore herself from Lady Jane's
hand, and flapping her wings, plunged into the
crowd, and was instantly swallowed up in the
vortex of humanity that whirled everywhere.
The procession was-coming, the crowd grew
very dense, and they were pulled and pushed
and jostled; but still Tiburce, who was a strong,
courageous boy, held his ground, and landed
Lady Jane on a window-sill, where she could
have a good view. The other Paichoux, under
the generalship of Sophie, came up to form a
guard, and so, in a very secure and comfortable
position, Lady Jane saw the procession of King
Rex and his royal household.
When Tiburce told her that the beautiful
Boeuf gras, decorated so gaily with flowers and
ribbons, would be killed and eaten afterward,
she almost shed tears, and when he further in-
formed her that King Rex was no king at all,
only a citizen dressed as a king in satin and vel-
vet and feathers, she doubted it, and still clung
to the illusion that he must sit always on a
throne and wear a crown, according to the
traditions of Mr. Gex.
Now that the procession was over, all might
have gone well, if Tiburce had held out as he
began; but, alas! in an evil moment, he yielded
to temptation and fell.
They were on their way back to Tante Mo-
deste, quite satisfied with all they had seen, when

they came upon a crowd gathered around the
door of a fashionable club. From the balcony
above a party of young men, who were more
generous than wise, were throwing small change,
dimes and nickels, into the crowd, that the rab-
ble might scramble for them; and there, right in
the midst of the seething mass, was Tite Souris,
her domino hanging in rags, her wings gone,
and her whole appearance very dilapidated and
disorderly. The spirit of greed possessed her,
and she plunged and struggled and battled for
the root of all evil.
Tiburce's first intention was to make a detour
of the crowd; but just as he was about to do
so, the gleam of a dime on the edge of the side-
walk caught his eye, and, overcome by the temp-
tation, he forgot everything and dropped Lady
Jane's hand to make a dive for it.
Lady Jane never knew how it happened, but
in an instant she was whirled away from the
Paichoux, swept on with the crowd that a police-
man was driving before him, and carried she
knew not where.
At first she ran hither and thither, seizing
upon every domino that bore the least resem-
blance to her companions, and calling Tiburce,
Sophie, Nanette, in heartrending tones, until,
quite exhausted, she sank down in a doorway
and watched the crowd surge past her.

CHAPTER XVII.
LADY JANE DINES WITH MR. GEX.
FOR some time Lady Jane sat in the door-
way, not knowing just what to do. She was
very tired, and at first she was inclined to rest,
thinking that Tiburce would come back and
find her there; then, when no one noticed her,
and it seemed very long that she had waited,
she felt inclined to cry, but she was a sensible,
courageous little soul, and knew that tears could
do no good; besides, it was very uncomfortable
crying behind a mask. Her eyes burned, and
her head ached, and she was hungry and thirsty,
and yet Tiburce didn't come; perhaps they had
forgotten her altogether, and gone home.
This thought was too much to bear calmly,
so she started to her feet to try to find them if
they were not coming to search for her.
She did not know which way to turn, for the

crowd confused her terribly. Sometimes a rude
imp in a domino would push her or twitch her
sleeve, and then, as frightened as a hunted hare,
she would dart into the first doorway, and wait
for her tormentor to pass. She was a delicate
little creature to be buffeted by such a turbulent
crowd, and but for the disguise of the domino
she would soon have found a protector amongst
those she fled from.
After wandering around for some time she
found herself very near the spot she started
from, and thankful for the friendly shelter of
the doorway, she slipped into it and sat down
to think and rest. She wanted to take off her
mask and cool her hot face, but she did not
dare to; for some reason she felt that her dis-
guise was a protection, but how could any one
find her when there were dozens of little figures
flitting about in pink dominoes.
While she sat there thinking and wondering
what she should do, she noticed a carriage drive
up to the next door, and two gentlemen got out
followed by a young man. When the youth
turned his face toward her, she started up ex-
citedly, and, holding out her hands, she cried
out pitifully, "It's me; it's Lady Jane."
The young fellow glanced around him with a
startled look; he heard the little cry but did not
catch the words, and it moved him strangely.
He thought it sounded like some small creature
in pain, but he only saw a little figure in a soiled
pink domino, some little street gamin he sup-
posed, and without further notice he passed her
and followed his companions up the steps.
It was the boy who gave Lady Jane the blue
heron, and he had passed her without seeing her.
She had called to him, and he had not heard
her. This was too much; she could not bear
it, and, withdrawing again into her retreat, she
sat down and burst into a passion of tears.
For a long while she cried silently, then she
fell asleep and forgot for a time all her troubles.
When she woke a rude man was pulling her to
her feet, and telling her to wake up and go
home; he had a stick and bright buttons on his
coat. Some young one tired out and gone to
sleep," he muttered as he went on his way.
Then Lady Jane began to think that that
place was no longer a safe refuge; the man with
the stick might come back and beat her if she

remained there; so she started out and crept
along close to the high buildings. She wondered
if it was near night, and what she should do
when it was dark. Oh, if Tante Modeste, Ti-
burce, or Madelon would only come for her, or
Tante Pauline,- even she would be a welcome
sight. She would not run away from Raste, even
if he should come just then, although she de-
tested him, because he pulled her hair and teased
her, and called her My Lady."
At that moment, some one behind her gave
her domino a violent pull, and she looked
around wildly. An imp in yellow and black was
following her. A strand of her bright hair had
escaped from her hood and fallen over her back;
he had it in his hand, and was using it as a rein.
"Get up, my little nag," he was saying, in a
rude, impertinent voice; "come-trot, trot." At
first she tried to get away, but she was so tired
and frightened that she could scarcely stand,
and she turned on her tormentor and bade him
leave her alone.
I 'm going to pull off your mask," he said,
"and see if you are Mary O'Brien." He made a
clutch at her, but Lady Jane evaded it; all the
spirit in her was aroused by this assault, and
the usually gentle child was transformed into a
little fury. Don't touch me," she cried; don't
touch me,"- and she struck the yellow and black
imp full in the face with all her strength.
Now this blow was the signal for a battle in
which Lady Jane was sadly worsted, for in a
moment the boy, who was older and of course
stronger, had torn her domino from her in rib-
bons, had snatched off her mask, and pulled the
hood from her head, which unloosened all her
beautiful hair, allowing it to fall in a golden
shower far below her waist; and there she stood
with flashing eyes and burning cheeks, quiver-
ing and panting, in the midst of a rude crowd,
like a little hunted animal brought to bay.
At that moment she saw some one leap on to
the banquette, and with one well-aimed and
dexterous kick send her enemy sprawling into
the gutter, while all the bystanders shouted
with laughter.
It was Gex, little Gex, who had come to her
rescue, and never did fair lady cling with greater
joy and gratitude to the knight who had de-
livered her from the claws of a dragon, than did

LADY JANE.

915

916 LADY

Lady Jane to the little horny hand of the an-
cient professor of the dance.
For a moment, so exhausted was she with her
battle, and so overcome with delight, that she
had no voice to express her feelings. Gex un-
derstood the situation, and, with great politeness
and delicacy, led her into a pharmacy near, gave
her a seat, smoothed her disordered dress and
hair, and gave her a glass of soda.
This so revived the little lady that she found
voice to say:
"Oh, Mr. Gex how did you know where I
was ? "
I did n't, I did n't," replied Gex tremulously.
"It vas vhat you call one accident. I vas just
going down the Rue Royale, vas just turning the
corner, I vas on my vay home. I 'd finished
my Mardi-gras, all I vant of the noise and fool-
ishness, and I vas going back to Rue des Bons
Enfants, vhen I hears one leetle girl cry out, and
I look and saw the yellow devil pull down my
leetle lady's hair. Oh, bon, bon, did n't I give him
one blow, did n't I send him in the gutter, fly-
ing,"-and Gex rubbed his hands and chuckled
with delight. And how lucky vas I to find my
leetle lady vhen she vas in trouble."
Then Lady Jane and Mr. Gex turned down
Rue Royale, and while she skipped along hold-
:ing his hand, her troubles all forgotten, she told
him how she had been separated from Tiburce,
and of all her subsequent misadventures.
Presently, Gex stopped before a neat little
restaurant, whose window presented a very
tempting appearance, and, looking at Lady
Jane, with a broad, inviting smile, said:
I should like to know if my leetle lady vas
hungry. It is past four of the clock, and I
should like to give my leetle lady von Mardi-
gras dinner."
Oh, thank you, Mr. Gex," cried Lady Jane,
delightedly, for the smell of the savory food
appealed to her empty stomach. I 'm so
hungry that I can't wait until I get home."
Veil, you shan't; this is one nice place, vairy
chic and fashionable, fit for one leetle lady, and
you shall see that Gex can order one fine dinner,
as veil as teach the dance."
When the quaint little old man, in his anti-

JANE.

quated black suit, a relic of other and better
days, entered the room with the beautiful child,
rosy and bareheaded, her yellow hair flying out
like spun silk, and her dainty though disordered
dress, plainly showing her superior position,
every eye was turned upon him, and Gex felt
the stirring of old pride and ambition as he
placed a chair with great ceremony and lifted
Lady Jane into it. Then he drew out his spec-
tacles with much dignity, and, taking the card
the waiter handed him, waited, pencil poised,
for the orders of the young lady.
If you please, he said, with a bow and a
smile, "to tell me vhat you prefair?"
Lady Jane frowned and bit her lip at the
responsibility of deciding so important a matter;
at length she said, with sparkling eyes and a
charming smile:
"If you please, Mr. Gex, I '11 take some -
some ice-cream."
But first, my leetle lady -but first, one leetle
plat of soup, and the fish with sauce verte, and
one leetle bird--just one leetle bird with the
petits pois--and one fine, good, leetle salad.
How vould that suit my leetle lady ?"
"And ice cream?" questioned Lady Jane,
leaning forward with her little hands clasped
primly in her lap.
"And after, yes, one crhme a la glace, one
cake, and one leetle bunch of raisin, grape you
say," repeated Gex, as he wrote laboriously
with his old, stiff fingers. "Now ve vill have
one fine leetle dinner," he said, with a beaming
smile, when he had completed the order.
Lady Jane nodded an affirmative, and while
they waited for their dinner her bright eyes,
traveling over everything, at length rested on
Mr. Gex with unbounded admiration, and she
could not refrain from leaning forward and
whispering :
Oh, Mr. Gex, how nice, how lovely you
look. Please, Mr. Gex, please, don't wear an
apron any more."
Veil, if my leetle lady don't vant me to,
veil, I von't," replied Gex, beaming with sudden
ambition and pride, and, perhaps, I vill try to
be one fine leetle gentleman again, like vhen I
vas professeur of the dance.

(To be continued )

THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS.

CHARLES COLERIDGE GRACE, as he was
called by the tennis editors, or Charley Grace,
as he was known about college, had held the
tennis championship of his Alma Mater ever
since he had been a freshman.
Even before that eventful year he had
carried off so many silver cups and highly
ornamented and equally useless racquets at
tournaments all over the country, that his com-
ing to college was considered quite an important
event.
His career was not marked by the winning
of any scholarships, nor by any brazen prom-
inence in the way of first honors; and though
the president may have wondered at the fre-
quency of Grace's applications to attend funer-
als, marriages, arid the family dentist, he was
always careful to look the other way when Grace
was to be seen hurrying to the station with three
racquets in one hand and a big green cloth bag
in the other.
Nor was he greatly surprised to read in the
next morning's paper that "this brought the
winner of the last set and Charles Coleridge
Grace together in the finals, which were won by
Mr. Grace, 6-4, 6-4, 6-2."
It was near the end of the first term in Grace's
junior year, and at a time when the dates of
tournaments and examinations were hopelessly
clashing, that he received another of many
invitations to attend an open tournament. This
particular circular announced that the N. L.
T. A. of the United States had given the Hill-
town Tennis Club permission to hold on their
own grounds a tournament for the championship
of the State.
Mr. Grace was cordially invited to participate,
not only through the formal wording of the
circular, but in a note of somewhat extravagant
courtesy signed by the club's secretary.
Hilltown is a very pretty place, and some of
its people are wealthy. They see that it has

good roads for their village-carts and landaus
to roll over, and their Queen Anne houses are as
ornamental to the surrounding landscape as is
similar architecture elsewhere.
They have also laid out and inclosed eight
tennis-courts of clay and turf, to suit everybody's
taste, and have erected a club-house which is
apparently fashioned after nobody's. Every year
Hilltown invited the neighboring tennis-clubs of
Malvern and Pineville to compete with them in
an inter-club tournament, and offered handsome
prizes which were invariably won by representa-
tives of Hilltown.
But this year, owing chiefly to the energies
of Mr. C. Percy Clay, the club's enthusiastic
secretary, Hilltown had been allowed to hold
a tournament on its own tennis-ground for the
double and single championship of the State.
This honor necessitated the postponement of
the annual tri-club meeting until ten days after
the championship games had been played.
The team who did the playing for the Hill-
town club were two young men locally known as
the Slade brothers.
They were not popular, owing to their assum-
ing an air of superiority over every one in the
town, from their father down to C. Percy Clay.
But as they had won every prize of which the
tennis-club could boast, they of necessity enjoyed
a prominence which their personal conduct
alone could not have gained for them.
Charles Grace arrived at Hilltown one Wed-
nesday morning. All but the final game of the
doubles had been played off on the two days
previous, and 'the singles were to be begun and
completed that afternoon. The grounds were
well filled when he reached them, and looked
as pretty as only pretty tennis-grounds can
look when they are gay with well-dressed girls,
wonderfully bright blazers, and marquees of
vividly brilliant stripes.
Grace found the list of entries to the singles

THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

posted up in the club-house, and discovered
that they were few in number, and that there
was among them only one name that was fa-
miliar to him.
As he turned away from the list, two very
young and bright-faced boys in very well-worn
flannels, came up the steps of the club-house
just as one of the Slades was leaving it.
Hullo," said Slade, "you back again ?"
It was such an unusual and impertinent wel-
come that Grace paused in some surprise and
looked on.
The eldest of the boys laughed good-naturedly
and said: "Yes, we 're here, Mr. Slade. You
know we drew a bye, and so we play in the
finals."
Well, of course you '11 play my brother and
myself then. I hope the novelty of playing in
the last round won't paralyze you. If it does n't,
we will," he added with a short laugh. I say,
Ed," he continued, turning to his elder brother,
"here are Merton and his partner come all the
way from Malvern to play in the finals. They
might have saved their car fare, don't you think
so ? "
The elder brother scowled at the unfortunate
representatives of Malvern.
"You don't really mean to.make us stand out
there in the hot sun fooling with you, do you ? "
he asked impatiently. "You'll only make a
spectacle of yourselves. Why don't you drop
out ? We 've beaten you often enough before,
I should think, to suit you, and we want to
begin the singles."
But the Malvern youths were not to be brow-
beaten. They said they knew they would be
defeated, but the people at Malvern were very
anxious to have them play, and had insisted on
their coming up. "They wish to see what sort
of a chance we have for the tri-club tournament,
next week," they explained.
"Well, we '11 show what sort of chance you
stand, with a vengeance," laughed one of the
brothers. But it really is a bore to us."
The two boys flushed, and one of them
began hotly, Let me tell you, Mr. Slade,"-
but the other put his hand on his arm, saying,
"What 's the use ?" and pushed him gently
toward the grounds.
The Slades went into the club-house grumbling.

Nice lot, those home players," soliloquized
Grace. "I 'll pound the life out of them for
that !"
He was still more inclined to revenge the
Malvern youths later, after their defeat by the
Slades,- which was not such a bad defeat after
all, as they had won one of the four sets, and
scored games in the others. But the Slades, with
complete disregard for all rules of hospitality,
to say nothing of the etiquette of tennis, kept
up a running comment of ridicule and criticism
on their hopeful opponents' play, and, much to
Grace's disgust, the spectators laughed and
encouraged them. The visitors struggled hard,
but everything was against them; they did not
understand playing as a team, and though they
were quick and sure-eyed enough, and their
service was wonderfully strong, the partiality of
the crowd rattled" them, and the ridicule of
their opponents was not likely to put them more
at their ease.
The man who had been asked to umpire with
Grace was a college man, and they both had
heard all that went on across the net in the final
round. So when their duties were over, they
went up to the defeated Malvernites and shook
hands with them, and said something kind to
them about their playing.
But the cracks did not congratulate the win-
ners. Indeed, they were so disgusted with the
whole affair that they refused to be lionized by
Mr. Clay and the spectators in any way, but
went off to the hotel in the village for luncheon,
- which desertion rendered the spread on the
grounds as flat as a coming-of-age dinner with
the comer-of-age absent.
After luncheon, Thatcher, the other collegian,
had the pleasure of defeating the younger Slade
in two straight sets, to his own and Grace's
satisfaction; but Mr. Thatcher's satisfaction was
somewhat dampened when Grace polished him
off in the next round, after a game which Grace
made as close as he could.
Other rounds were going on in the other
courts, and at five o'clock Grace and the elder
Slade came together in the finals. Thatcher
had gone home after wishing his conqueror
luck, and Grace was left alone. He was not
pleased to see that Slade's brother was to act
as one-of the umpires, as he had noticed that

918

THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

his decisions in other games were carelessly in-
correct.
But he was in no way prepared for what
followed.
For the younger Slade's umpiring in the final
game was even more efficient in gaining points
for the Hilltown side than was the elder's
playing.
It was a matter of principle with Grace, as
with all good players, never to question an
umpire's decision, and he had been taught
the good old rule: Never kick in a winning
game." But the decisions were so outrageous
that it soon came too close to being a losing
game for him to allow them to continue. So,
finally, after a decision of the brother's had given
Slade the second one of the two sets, Grace
went to the referee and asked that some one
be appointed to act in Mr. Slade's place, as he
did not seem to understand or to pay proper at-
tention to the game.
Mr. Slade's decisions have been simply
ridiculous," said Grace, "and they have all
been against myself. This may be due to igno-
rance or carelessness, but in any case I object
to him as an umpire most emphatically."
Well, you can object to him all you please,"
retorted the elder brother. If you don't like
the way this tournament is conducted you can
withdraw. You need n't think you can come
down here and attempt to run everything to
suit yourself, even if you are a crack player.
Do you mean to forfeit the game or not ? "
It seems to me, gentlemen," stammered Mr.
Percy Clay, excitedly, that if Mr. Grace desires
another umpire "
Oh, you keep out of this, will you! retorted
the omnipotent Slade, and Mr. Clay retreated
hurriedly..
Grace walked back into the court, and nodded
to the referee that he was ready to go on.
He was too angry to speak, but he mentally
determined to beat his opponent so badly, um-
pire or no umpire, that he would never dare to
raise his voice again.
This incendiary spirit made him hammer the
innocent rubber balls to such purpose that the
elder Slade was almost afraid of his life, and
failed to return more than a dozen of the oppo-
nent's strokes in the next two sets.

His brother's decisions were now even more
ridiculous than before, but Grace pretended
not to notice them.
The game now stood two straight sets in
Grace's favor, and one set 6-5 in Slade's-or
in favor of both the Slades, for they had both
helped to win it.
Grace had four games love, in the final set,
when in running back after a returned ball he
tripped and fell over an obstacle, spraining his
right ankle very badly. The obstacle proved
to be the leg of one of the Hilltown youths
who was lying in the grass with his feet stuck
out so far that they touched the line.
Grace got up and tried to rest his weight on
his leg, and then sat down again very promptly.
He shut his teeth and looked around him.
Nobody moved except Mr. Clay, who asked
anxiously if Grace were hurt. Grace said that
he was; that he had sprained his ankle.
The young gentleman over whom he had
fallen had by this time curled his legs up under
him, but made no proffer of assistance or
apology.
"Oh, that's an old trick! Grace heard the
younger Slade say in a tone which was meant
to reach him. Some men always sprain their
ankles when they are not sure of winning.
He 'll be able to walk before the year 's out."
Grace would have got up then and there and
thrashed the younger Slade, ankle or no ankle,
if he had not been pounced upon by the two Mal-
vern boys, who pushed their way through the
crowd with a pail of lemonade and a half dozen
towels that they had picked up in the club-
house. They slipped off his shoe and stocking,
and dipping a towel in the iced lemonade, bound
it about his ankle and repeated the operation
several times, much to Grace's relief.
"This lemonade was prepared for drinking
purposes, I fancy," said one of them, "but we
could n't find anything else. I never heard of
its being good for sprains, but it will have to
do. How do you feel now? "
"All right, thank you," said Grace. I 've
only these two games to play now, and it's my
serve. I need n't run around much in that,
Just give me a lift, will you ? Thanks."
But as soon as Grace touched his foot to the
ground, the boys saw that he was anything but

919

THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

all right. His face grew very white, and his lips
lost their color. Whenever he moved he drew
in his breath in short, quick gasps, and his teeth
were clinched with the pain.
He lost his serve, and the next game as well,
and before five minutes had passed he was two
games to the bad in the last set.
The Malvern boys came to him and told him
to rest; that he was not only going to lose the
game, but that he might be doing serious injury
as well to his ankle, which was already swelling
perceptibly. But Grace only unlaced his shoe
the further and set his teeth. One of the Mal-
vernites took upon himself to ask the referee if
he did not intend giving Mr. Grace a quarter
of an hour's time at least.
The referee said that the rules did not say
anything about sprained ankles.
"Why, I know of tennis matches," returned
the Malvernite champion excitedly, "that have
been laid over for hours because of a sprained
ankle. It will be no glory to Mr. Slade to win
from a man who has to hop about on one foot,
and no credit either."
Mr. Grace is a crack player, and I 'm not,"
said Slade; "but I asked no favors of him on
that account, and I don't expect him to ask
any of me."
"I have n't asked any of you!" roared Grace,
now wholly exasperated with anger and pain,
"and you '11 wait some time before I do. Go
on with the game."
The ankle grew worse, but Grace's playing
improved, notwithstanding. He felt that he
would rather beat that Slade man" than the
champion himself; and he won each of his
serves, not one of the balls being returned.
They were now "five all," and the expressed
excitement was uproarious in its bitterness and
intensity.
Slade had the serve, and it was with a look of
perfect self-satisfaction that he pounded the first
ball across the net. Grace returned it, and the
others that followed brought the score up to
'vantage in Slade's favor, so that he only needed
one more point to win.
The people stood up in breathless silence.
Grace limped into position and waited, Slade
bit his under lip nervously and served the ball
easily, and his opponent sent it back to him like

an arrow; it struck within a foot of the serving
line on the inside, making the score deuce."
"Outside! Game and set in favor of Mr.
Slade," chanted the younger Slade with an ex-
ultant cry.
"What! shouted Grace and the two Mal-
vernites in chorus.
But the crowd drowned their appeal in excla-
mations of self-congratulation and triumph.
Did you see that ball ? demanded Grace
of the referee.
I did," said that young man.
"And do you mean to tell me it was out ?"
"It was- I do," stammered the youth.
"You heard what Mr. Slade said."
"I don't care what Mr. Slade said. I ap-
peal to you against the most outrageous decision
ever given on a tennis-field."
"And I support Mr. Slade," replied the ref-
eree.
Oh, very well!" said Grace with sudden
quietness. Come," he whispered to his two
lieutenants, "let's get out of this. They '11 take
our watches next !" And the three slowly made
their way to the club-house.
They helped Grace into his other clothes and
packed up his tennis flannels for him. He was
very quiet and seemed more concerned about
his ankle than over the loss of the State cham-
pionship.
Grace and his two supporters were so long in
getting to the station, no courtesies having been
tendered to them in the way of a conveyance,
that Grace missed his train.
He was very much annoyed, for he was anx-
ious to shake the dust of Hilltown from his
feet, and he was more than anxious about his
ankle.
Mr. Grace," said Merton, Prior and I were
wondering if you would think we were presum-
ing on our short acquaintance if we asked you to
come home with us to Malvern. You can't get
back to college to-night from here, and Malvern
is only ten miles off. My father is a doctor and
could tell you what you ought to do about your
ankle, and we would be very much pleased if
you would stay with us."
"Yes, indeed, we would, Mr. Grace," echoed
the younger lad.
"Why, it's very kind of you; you 're very

920

THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

good indeed!" stammered Grace; "but I 'm
afraid your family are hardly prepared to re-
ceive patients at all hours, and to have the
house turned into a hospital."
Merton then protested with dignity that he
had asked Grace as a guest, not as a patient;
and they finally compromised upon Grace's
consenting to go on to Malvern, but insisting
on going to the hotel.
Grace had not been at the Malvern Hotel,
which was the only one in the place and more
of an inn than a hotel, for over ten minutes be-
fore Dr. Merton arrived in an open carriage

GRACE SPRAINS HIS ANKLE.
and carried him off, whether he would or no, to
his own house, where, after the ankle was dressed,
Grace was promptly put to bed.
In the morning, much to his surprise, he
found that the swelling had almost entirely dis-
appeared, and he was allowed in consequence to
come down to the breakfast-table with the fam-
ily, where he sat with his foot propped up on a
chair. He was considered a very distinguished
invalid and found it hard not to pose as a celeb-
rity in the cross-fire of admiring glances from
the younger Merton boys and the deferential
questions of their equally young sisters.
After breakfast, he was assisted out on to the
VOL. XVII.- I13.

lawn and placed in a comfortable wicker chair
under a tree, where he could read his book or
watch the boys play tennis, as he pleased. The
tennis was so well worth watching that after
regarding it critically for half an hour he sud-
denly pounded the arm of his chair and called
excitedly for the boys to come to him. They
ran up in some alarm.
"There's nothing wrong," he said. "I have
a great idea. I see a way for you to get even
with those lads at Hilltown and to revenge me
by proxy. All you need is a week's training with
better players than yourselves for this tri-club
tournament and you '11
--be as good or better than
they are now."
Then the champion ex-
plained how the Malvern
team, having no worthy
S. opponents to practice
"" against at home, were
:.. '/'.. not able to improve in
Their playing; that water
''. would not rise above its
own level; and that all
they required was com-
S' petitors who were much
Better than themselves.
I can teach'you some-
thing about team-play
that you don't seem to
understand," said Grace.
"I will write to-daytothat
college chap, Thatcher,
to come down with a
good partner and they
will give you some fine practice."
The Malvern boys were delighted. They
wanted the lessons to begin at once, and as soon
as the letter was despatched to Thatcher, Grace
had his arm-chair moved up near the net and
began his lectures on tennis, two boys from the
Malvern club acting as the team's opponents.
Grace began by showing the boys the advan-
tage of working as a team and not as individ-
uals, how to cover both alleys at once, and how
to guard both the front and back; he told them
where to stand so as not to interfere with each
other's play, when to smash a ball and when to
lift it high in the air, where to place it and when

THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

to let it alone. Sometimes one play would be re-
peated over and over again, and though Grace
was a sharp master his team were only too will-
ing to do as he commanded whether they saw
the advantage of it or not. When the shad-
ows began to grow long and the dinner-gong
sounded, Grace told them they could stop, and
said they had already made marked improve-
ment, so they went in radiant with satisfaction
and exercise, and delightfully tired.
Practice began promptly the next morning,
and continued steadily on to luncheon. At
two o'clock Thatcher and another player ar-
rived from the college, which was only a few
miles distant from Malvern, and Grace gave
them an account of his defeat at Hilltown and
of the Slades' treatment of the Malvernites.
You saw, Thatcher," said Grace, "how
they abused and insulted those boys. Well,
these same boys have treated me as if I were
one of their own family. Dr. and Mrs. Merton
have done everything that people could do.
It has been really lovely, and I think one way
I can show my appreciation of it is to bring
back those cups from that hole in the ground
called Hilltown. And I ask you to help me."
The college men entered heartily into Grace's
humor, and promised to come down every after-
noon and give the boys all the practice they
wanted.
Every one belonging to the club had heard
what was going on, by this time, and the doctor's
big front lawn was crowded with people all the
afternoon in consequence.
The improvement in the Malvern boys' play-
ing was so great that every one came up to be
introduced, and to congratulate Grace on the
work he had done. He held quite a levee in
his arm-chair.
Mrs. Merton asked the college men to sup-
per, and had some of the Malvern men and
maidens to meet them.
The visitors presumably enjoyed their first
day very much, for when they returned the
next day they were accompanied by four more
collegians, who showed the keenest interest in
the practice games.
These four men belonged to that set that is
found in almost every college, whose members
always seem to have plenty of time to encourage

and aid every institution of Alma Mater, from
the debating societies to the tug-of-war team.
These particular four were always on the field
when the teams practiced; they bought more
tickets than any one else for the Glee Club con-
certs; and no matter how far the foot-ball team
might have to wander to play a match, they
could always count on the appearance of the
faithful four, clad in great-coats down to their
heels and with enough lung power to drown the
cheers of a hundred opponents.
Barnes, Blair, Black, and Buck were their
proper names, but they were collectively known
as the Four B's, the Old Guard, or the Big
Four, and Thatcher had so worked on their feel-
ings that they were now ready to champion the
Malvern team against their disagreeable oppo-
nents.
They made a deep impression on the good
townsfolk of Malvern. Different people car-
ried them off to supper, but they all met later at
Dr. Merton's and sat out on his wide veranda in
the moonlight, singing college songs to a banjo
accompaniment which delighted the select few
inside the grounds and equally charmed a vast
number of the uninvited who hung over the
front fence.
The practice games continued day after day,.
and once or twice the Malvern team succeeded
in defeating their instructors, which delighted
no one more than the instructors themselves.
Grace was very much pleased. He declared
he would rather have his boys defeat the Slades
than win the national tournament himself, and
as he said so, he really believed that he would.
He went around on crutches now, and it was
very odd to see him vaulting about the court in
his excitement, scolding and approving, and
shouting, Leave that ball alone," Come up,
now," "Go back, play it easy," "Smash it!"
"Well played, indeed, sir," "Well placed! "
The tri-club tournament opened on Wednes-
day, and on Tuesday the Four B's, who had
been daily visitors to Malvern, failed to appear,
but sent instead two big pasteboard boxes, each
holding a blazer, cap, and silk scarf, in blue-and-
white stripes, the Malvern club colors, which
they offered as their share toward securing the
Malvern champions' victory.
On the last practice day, Grace balanced him-

THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

self on his crutches and gave the boys the hard-
est serving they had ever tried to stand up
against. All day long he pounded the balls
just an inch above the net, and when they were
able to return three out of six he threw down
his racket and declared himself satisfied. "We
may not take the singles," he said, "but it looks
as if the doubles were coming our way."
Grace and his boys, much to the disgust of
the townspeople, all of whom, from the burgess
down to the hostler in the Malvern Hotel, were
greatly excited over the coming struggle, re-
quested that no one should accompany them to
Hilltown. They said if they took a crowd down
there and were beaten it would only make their
defeat more conspicuous, and that the presence
of so many interested friends might also make
the boys nervous. If they won, they could cel-
ebrate the victory more decorously at home.
But Grace could not keep the people from go-
ing as far as the depot to see them off, and they
were so heartily cheered as they steamed away
that the passengers and even the conductor were
much impressed.
The reappearance of Grace on crutches, and
of the Malvern boys in their striking costumes
caused a decided sensation. They avoided any
conversation with the Hilltown people, and
allowed Grace to act for them in arranging
the preliminaries.
Pineville had sent two teams. Hilltown was
satisfied with the "State champions," as they
fondly called the Slades, and these, with Mal-
vern's one team, balanced the games evenly.
The doubles opened with Merton and Prior
against the second Pineville team, and the State
champions against its first. Grace told his
boys not to exert themselves, and to play only
just well enough to win. They did as he said,
and the second Pineville team were defeated in
consequence by so few points that they felt
quite pleased with themselves. The Slades had
but little trouble with the other Pineville team.
Then the finals came on, and the people of
Hilltown crowded up to see the demolition of
the Malvernites, against whom they were now
more than bitter, owing to Grace's evident in-
terest in their success.
The Hilltown element were so anxious to
show their great regard for the champions

that they had contributed an extra amount of
money toward the purchase of prize cups over
and above the fixed sum subscribed by each of
the three clubs.
Get those cups ready for us," said the elder
Slade, as the four players took their places.
Prior looked as if he was going to answer this
taunt, but Grace shook his head at him.
Thatcher, whose late service to the Malvern
team was unknown, acted at their request as one
of the umpires. Two Hilltown men served as
the referee and other umpire. The game opened
up in a way that caused a cold chill to run
down the backs of the Hilltown contingent.
The despised Malvernites were transformed, and
Hilltown could not believe its eyes.
Are these the same boys who were here ten
days ago ?" asked an excited old gentleman.
"They say they are," replied Mr. Percy Clay
gloomily, "but they don't look it."
The Slades felt a paralyzing numbness com-
ing over them as ball after ball came singing
back into their court, placed in odd corners just
out of reach of their rackets.
They held a hurried consultation, and rolled
up their sleeves a little higher and tossed away
their caps.
Grace had a far-away and peaceful look in
his eyes that made the crowd feel nervous. The
first set went six to four in favor of Malvern.
Then the crowd surrounded the champions and
poured good advice and reproaches upon them,
which did not serve to help either their play or
their 'temper.
The result of the second set convinced the
umpire and referee that it was time to take a hand
in the game themselves, and the decisions at once
became so unfair that Grace hobbled over to
that end of the court to see after things. But
his presence had no effect on the perceptions of
the Hillto.wn umpire. Grace hobbled back to
Thatcher and asked him what they had better do
about it. Thatcher said he was powerless, and
Grace regretted bitterly that he had not brought
a crowd with him to see fair play, for the boys
were getting rattled at being robbed of so many
of theirhard-won points. To make matters worse,
the crowd took Thatcher in hand, and dis-
puted every decision he gave against Hilltown.
Thatcher's blood rose at this, and forgetting

923

THE GREAT TRI-.CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

that the usual procedure would not be recog-
nized by a Hilltown crowd, he turned on the
spectators and told them that he would have
the next man who interfered or questioned
his decisions expelled from the grounds.
His warning was received with hoots of laugh-
ter and ironical cheers.
"Who 's going to put us out ?" asked the
Hilltown youths derisively. But Thatcher had
spoken in a loud voice, and his words and the
answer to them had reached the ears of four
straight-limbed young men who were at that
moment making their way across the grounds.
They broke into a run, and, shoving their way
through the big crowd with an abruptness
learned only in practice against a rush line on
a foot-ball field, stood forth on the court in all
the glory of orange and black blazers.
"The Four B's!" exclaimed Grace, with a
gasp of relief. .
"What seems to be the matter, Thatcher?"
asked Barnes quietly. "Whom do you want
put out?"
"Who are you ? demanded Mr. Clay, run-
ning up in much excitement. "Get off this
court. You '11 be put out yourselves if you
attempt to interfere."
Several of the Hilltown young men ran to
Mr. Clay's assistance, while one of the Slades
leaped over the net and seized Mr. Clay by the
shoulder.
Don't be a fool, Clay!" he whispered. "I
know those men. Two of them play on the foot-
ball team, and if they felt like it they could turn
the whole town out of the grounds. Leave
them alone."
Mr. Clay left them alone.
Go on, Thatcher," said Black, with a nod,
"if any of these gentlemen object to any deci-
sion, we will discuss it with them. That's what
we 're here for." Two of the Big Four seated
themselves at the feet of the Hilltown umpire
and looked wistfully up at him whenever he
made a close decision. It was remarkable how
his eyesight was improved by their presence.
The Malvern boys beamed with confidence
again. The second set went to them, 6-4.
Grace was so delighted that he excitedly
stamped his bad foot on the turf, and then
howled with pain.

The last set was-" for blood," -as one of the
collegians said.
The Slades overcame their first surprise, and
settled down to fight for every point.
The Malvernites gave them all the fight they
wanted. One by one the games fell now on
one side, now on the other side of the net.
And when it came five games all, the disgust
and disappointment of the crowd showed itself
in shouts and cheers for their champions and
hoots for their young opponents.
But all the cheering and hooting could not
change the result.
"Set and game! Malvern wins!" shouted
Thatcher, and then, forgetting his late judicial
impartiality, threw his arms around Morton's
neck and yelled.
The silence of the Hilltown people was so
impressive that the wild yell of the college
contingent sounded like a whole battery of sky-
rockets instead of only four, and Grace sat down
on the court and pounded the ground with his
crutches.
"That's enough for me," he cried, I don't
care for the singles. I know when I 've had
enough! I 'd have two sprained ankles to do it
over again!"
Then the Slades announced that the singles
would begin immediately after luncheon.
The Malvern contingent went to the hotel to
find something to eat, and Blair slipped away
to telegraph to Malvern.
Five minutes later the operator at that place
jumped as if he had received a shock from his
own battery, and hurried out into the street
shouting, Malvern 's won the doubles, three
straight sets! "
Judge Prior's coachman, who was waiting at
the station for an express package, turned his
horse and galloped back up Malvern's only
street, shouting out:
"We 've won. Master Prior and Mr. Merton 's
won the tennis match."
And then the people set to work to prepare a
demonstration.
The Hilltown people thought they had never
seen young men so disagreeable as were the Big
Four after luncheon. They seated themselves like
sentinels at the four corners of the court, and
whenever any one ventured to jeer at Malvern's

[SEPT.

924

189o.] THE GREAT TRI-CLUB

representative they would burst into such an
enthusiasm of cheering as to deafen the specta-
tors.
There was no one in the singles but Slade.and
Merton, the Pineville representative having de-
cided to drop out. Merton, was nervous, and
Slade was determined to win. Both played as
they had never played before, but Slade's service,
which was his strong point, was nothing after
the one to which Grace had accustomed Mer-

TENNIS TOURNAMENT. 925

back again. "If he does that again," said
Grace, "I '11 have nervous prostration!" But he
did n't do it again. He smashed the next ball
back into Slade's court far out of his way, and
then pulled down his sleeves as unconcernedly
as if he had been playing a practice game.
The next moment Prior and the others had
lifted him up on their shoulders, and were
trampin ground the field with him shouting,
" What's the matter with Malvern ? and We

MERTON WINS THE SINGLES.

ton. And in spite of Slade's most strenuous
efforts the games kept coming slowly and
slightly in Merton's favor.
They were two sets all and were beginning the
final set, when Barnes arose and disappeared in
the crowd. But those of the quartette who were
left made noise enough to keep Merton playing
his best. It became a more and more bitter
fight as the end drew near. Grace was so ex-
cited that not even his sprained ankle could
keep him quiet, and Thatcher had great difficulty
in restraining a desire to shout. At last Merton
got "'vantage," with only one point to win, but
he missed the next ball and back went the score
to deuce again. Three times this happened,
and three times the college men half rose from
the ground expecting to cheer and then sank

are the people!" and many other such highly
ridiculous and picturesque cries of victory.
And then there came a shout from the en-
trance to the grounds, and up the carriage-way
rode Barnes mounted on top of an old-fashioned,
yellow-bodied stage-coach that he had found
in some Hilltown livery-stable and decorated
from top to bottom with the Malvern colors.
He had four horses in hand, and he was waving
his whip and shouting as if a pack of wolves or
Indians were in close pursuit.
The boys clambered up on top of the coach
and began blowing the horns and affixing the
new brooms that Barnes had thoughtfully
furnished for them. They were in such a
hurry to start that they forgot the prizes; and
if Grace had not reminded the boys, they would

L_ Z-1:1- ifL-~
v INA ~ ~ ~ i

THE GREAT TRI-CLUB TENNIS TOURNAMENT.

have gone home content without the tokens
of victory.
The faces of Mr. Percy Clay and the other
contributors to the silver cups when they saw
the prizes handed up to that Malvern gang,"
as they now called them, were most pitiful.
Fancy our giving two hundred dollars extra
for those cups, and then having them go to Mal-
vern!" groaned Mr. Clay.
The boys took the prizes without remark, and
had the courtesy not to open the boxes in
which the cups reposed on blue velvet until they
were out of sight of the men who had lost
them with such bad grace.
But when once they were on the road, with
the wind whistling around their hats and the
trees meeting over their heads and the sun smil-
ing its congratulations as it sank for the night,
they displayed the cups, and Grace said he had
never seen any handsomer.
It really seemed as if the ten miles was cov-
ered in as many minutes, and though dogs ran
out and barked at them, and the people in the
fields stared at them as if thinking they were
crazy, and although Barnes insisted on driving
over every stone he could find and almost up-
setting them, they kept up their spirits and
shouted and sang the whole way.
The engineer of the train that had taken them
up saw the coach on his return trip bounding
through the shady high road where it ran paral-
lel with his track, and told the operator at Mal-
vern that "those boys were coming back on
top of a circus band-wagon."
And the people of Malvern were ready to re-
ceive them, though they were still ignorant of
the second victory. The young people lined the
high road for a distance beyond the town, and the
boys saw them from afar, seated on the fence-
rails and in buggies and wagons. The other
members of the club saw the stage, also, for one
of the boys had been up in a tree on the
lookout for the las half hour. And they

waved the club colors and all the flags they
had been able to get at such short notice; but it
was not until three of the Big Four stood up on
top of the coach at the risk of breaking their
necks, and held up the cups and waved them
around their heads until they flashed like mir-
rors, that the club really cheered. And when
they saw there were cups they set up such a
hurrah that the cows in the next field tore
madly off in a stampede. That night everybody
in the town came to Dr. Merton's with the vil-
lage band and thronged the big lawn; and
Merton made a speech in which he spoke very
highly of Prior, and of the Big Four who had
helped to save the day, and of Thatcher, but
most of all of Grace.
Then Grace had to speak leaning on his
crutches; and the band played and the college
boys sang and everybody handled the prizes
and admired them even to the champions' satis-
faction.
The next day Grace bade his new friends good-
bye and went back to college, where his absence
was attributed to his sprained ankle. Hethought
of the people of Malvern very often, of the twi-
light evenings spent on Dr. Merton's lawn lis-
tening to the college boys' singing and talking
to the girls of the Malvern Tennis Club, and of
the glorious victory of his pupils and the friend-
liness and kindness of his hosts.
He knew he would never forget them, but
he never thought they would long remember
him.
But, two weeks later, the expressman brought
a big box with a smaller black one inside of it;
and within, resting on its blue velvet bed, was a
facsimile of the prize cup of the tri-club tourna-
ment. And it was marked, "To Charles Cole-
ridge Grace. From the people of Malvern."
And when Grace exhibits the many prizes he
has won, they say that it is this cup which he
did not win that he handles most carefully and
shows with the greatest pride.

September.

We made ourselves a castle
SOnce after school was out;
r We raked the leaves together
STo wall it all about.

/" We made a winding pathway
Down to the school-yard gate,
And there we worked with might and main
Until the day grewlate;

Until one bright star twinkled
Above the maple tree ,
And lights shone down the village street
I- IAs far as we could see

\ We planned that every recess
SWe'd come out there to play,
'4 Butin the night it blew sohard
Our castle blew away.
cd K.Pyle.

"CHOPPING HIM DOWN."

BY CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS.

LIFE in the lumbermen's winter camps, deep has died away, the wild beasts might creep
in the backwoods of New Brunswick, Maine, or near enough to camp to smell the pork and
in Quebec, is not so adventurous as might at beans with little risk.
first appear. It grows monotonous to the vis- At rare intervals, however, the monotony of
itor as soon as the strangeness of it has worn off. profound and soundless snows, of endless forests,

g~

TlI noise 01of ,
thei c thlppnl. he
is.:.ItIti'., tl-- ci h nk- -
ingi and tranimlsng of '.',
th.: t.e.-ms, give suln- ....
ci.- t v.: -nng to all he l'
%iill creatures of the
woods, and they gen- "T"ERE, NOT' TEN FEET ABOv
WAS A HUGE PANTHER."
rally agree in giving (SEE PAGE 930.)
wide berth to a neighborhood which has suddenly
become so dangerous. The lumbermen are in-
cessantly occupied, chopping and hauling from
dawn to sundown; and at night they have little
energy to expend on the hunting of bears or
panthers. Their bunks and their blankets ac-
quire an overwhelming attraction for them; and
by the time the camp has concluded its after-sup-
per smoke, and the sound of a few noisy songs

of felled trees, of devious wood-roads, of
ax and sled and chain, is sharply broken,
and something occurs to remind the
heedless woodsman that though in the
wilderness he is yet not truly of it. He
is suddenly made aware of those shy but
savage forces which, regarding him as
a trespasser on their domains, have been
vigilantly keeping him under a keen
and angry watch.
The spirit of the violated forest strikes
a swift and sometimes effectual blow for
revenge. A yoke of oxen are straining at
their load : a great branch seems, with
S conscious purpose, to reach down and
seize the nearest ox by his horns,-and
the poor brute falls with his neck broken.
A stout sapling is bent to the ground by
a weight of ice and snow: the thaw or
a passing team releases it, and by the
fierce recoil a horse's leg is fractured.
A lumberman strays off into the woods
by himself, and is found, days afterward,
half eaten by bears and foxes. A solitary
S chopper drops his ax, and leans against
a tree to rest or to dream of his sweet-
SME, heart in the distant settlements, and a
panther drops from the branches above
and seriously wounds him.
Yet the forest's vengeance is seldom accom-
plished, and on the careless woodsman the threat
of it produces no permanent effect. His onward
march will not be stayed. His ax goes every-
where.
There is perhaps nothing that so cheers the
heart of the lumberman as to play a prac-
tical joke on one whom he calls a greenhorn,"

"CHOPPING HIM DOWN."

or in other words, any one unused to the strange
ways and flavor of the lumber-camps. As may
be imagined, the practical jokes in vogue in
such rough company are not remarkable for
gentleness. One of the harshest and most dan-
gerous, as well as most admired, is that known
as chopping him down."
This means, in a word, that the unsophisti-
cated stranger in the camp is invited to climb a
tall tree to take observations or enjoy a remark-
able view. No sooner has he reached the top,
than a couple of vigorous axmen attack the
tree at its base, while the terrified stranger
makes fierce haste to descend from his too-lofty
situation. Long before he can reach the ground
the tree begins to topple. The men shout to
him to get on the upper side,- which he does
with appalled alacrity; and with a mighty swish
and crash down comes the tree. As a general
rule, the heavy branches so break the shock
that the victim, to his intense astonishment,
finds himself uninjured; though frequently he
is frightened out of a year's growth. There are
cases on record, however, where men have been
crippled for life in this outrageous play; and
in some cases the "boss" of the camp forbids it.
But it is not only the greenhorn who is
subject to this discipline of chopping down.
Even veterans sometimes like to climb a tree
and take a view beyond the forest; and some-
times, on a holiday or a Sunday, some contem-
plative woodsman will take refuge in a tree-top
to think of his sweetheart, or else to eat a sheet
of stolen gingerbread. If his retreat be discov-
ered by his comrades he is promptly chopped
down with inextinguishable jeers.
I have mentioned stolen gingerbread. This
bread is a favorite delicacy in the camps; and
the cook who can make really good gingerbread
is prized indeed. It is made in wide, thin, tough
sheets; and while it is.being served to the hands,
some fellow occasionally succeeds in "hooking "
a whole sheet while the cook's back is toward
him. But in that same instant every man's hand
is turned against him. He darts into the woods,
devouring huge mouthfuls as he runs. If he is
very swift of foot he may escape, eat his spoils in
retirement, and stroll back, an hour later, with a
conscious air of triumph. More often he has to
take to a tree. Instantly all hands rush to chop
VOL. XVII.-I14.

him down. He climbs no higher than is neces-
sary, perches himself on a stout limb, and eats
at his gingerbread for dear life. He knows just
what position to take for safety, and often, ere
the tree comes down, there is little gingerbread
left to reward its captors. The meager remnant
is usually handed over with an admirable sub-
missiveness, if it is not dropped in the fall and
annihilated in the snow and debris.
At one time I knew a lumberman who suc-
ceeded in hiding his stolen gingerbread in his
long boot-legs, and slept with the boots under
his head for security. The camp was on the
banks of a lake. The time of the capture of
the gingerbread Saturday night in spring. Next
morning the spoiler took possession of the one
" bateau belonging to the camp, rowed out
into the lake beyond the reach of stones and
snowballs, and then calmly fished the ginger-
bread out of his boots. Sitting at ease in the
bateau, he devoured his dainty with the utmost
deliberation, while his chagrined comrades could
only guy him from the shore.
For myself, I was chopped down once, and
once only. It happened in this way. In the
midwinter of 1879, I had occasion to visit the
chief camp on the Little Madawaska. Coming
from the city, and to a camp where I was a
stranger to all the men, I was not unnaturally
regarded as a pronounced specimen of the
greenhorn. I took no pains to tell any one
what the boss already well knew, that is, that I
had been a frequenter of the camps from my
boyhood. Many and many a neat trap was laid
for my apparently tender" feet, but I avoided
them all as if by accident. As for climbing a tree,
I always laughed at the idea when it was pro-
posed to me. I always suggested that it might
spoil my clothes. Before long the men, by put-
ting little things together, came to the conclusion
that I was an old stager; and, rather sheepishly,
they gave over their attempts to entrap me.
Then I graciously waved my hand, as it were,
and was frankly received as a veteran, cleared
from every suspicion of being green.
At last the day came when I did wish to
climb a tree. The camp was on a high plateau,
and not far off towered a magnificent pine tree,
growing out of the summit of a knoll in such a
way as to command all the surrounding coun-

929

" CHOPPING HIM DOWN.

try. Its branches were phenomenally thick; its
girth of trunk was magnificent. And this tree
I resolved one day to climb, in order to get a
clear idea of the lay of the land. Of course I
strolled off surreptitiously, and, as I thought,
unwatched. But there I was much mistaken.
No sooner was I two-thirds of the way up the
tree than, with shouts of laughter, the lumbermen

III
t ~~ ~ -* *'
i ...

-- -

ENJOYING STOLEN SWEETS.

rushed out of the surrounding cover and pro-
ceeded to chop me down. The chance was too
good for them to lose.
I concealed my annoyance, and made no at-
tempt to descend. On the contrary I thanked
them for the little attention, and climbed a few
feet further up, to secure a position which I saw
would be a safe one for me when the tree should
fall. As I did so, I perceived, with a gasp and
a tremor, that I was not alone in the tree.
There, not ten feet above me, stretched at full
length along a large branch, was a huge panther,
glaring with rage and terror. From the men
below his form was quite concealed. Glancing
restlessly from me to my pursuers, the brute
seemed uncertain just what to do. As I care-
fully refrained from climbing any further up, and
tried to assume an air of not having observed
him, he apparently concluded that I was not
his worst enemy. In fact, I dare say he under-
stood what was going on and realized that he
and I were fellow-sufferers.
I laughed softly to myself as I thought how
my tormentors would be taken aback when that
panther should come down among them. I

decided that, considering their numbers, there
would be at least no more danger for them than
that to which they were exposing me in their
reckless fooling. And, already influenced by
that touch of nature which makes us so wondrous
kind, I began to hope that the panther would
succeed in making his escape.
The trunk of the pine was so thick that I
might almost have reached the ground before
the choppers could cut it through. At last it
gave a mighty shudder and sagged to one side.
I balanced myself nimbly on the upper side,
steadying myself by a convenient branch. The
great mass of foliage, presenting a wide surface
to the air, made the fall a comparatively slow
one; but the tremendous sweep of the draught
upward, as the tree-top described its gigantic
arc, gave me a sickening sensation. Then came
the final dull and thunderous crash, and -in
an instant, I found myself standing in my place,
jarred but unhurt, with the snow threshed up
all about me.
The next instant there was another roar, or
rather a sort of screaming yell, overwhelming the
riotous laughter of the woodsmen; and out of
the confusion of pine-boughs shot the tawny form
of the panther in a whirlwind of fury. One
of the choppers was in his path, and was bowled
over like a clumsy nine-pin. The next bound
brought the beast on to the backs of a yoke of
oxen, and his cruel claws severely scratched the
oxen's necks. As the poor animals bellowed
and fell on their knees, the panther paused,
with some idea, apparently, of fighting the
whole assembled party. But as the men, re-
covered from their first amazement, rushed with
their axes to the rescue of the oxen, the panther
saw that the odds were all against him. He
turned half round and greeted his enemies
with one terrific and strident snarl, then bounded'
off into the forest at a pace which made it idle
to pursue him. The owner of the oxen hurled
an ax after him, but the missile flew wide of
its mark.
As the excitement subsided, and I saw that
the chopper who had been knocked over was
none the worse for his tumble, I chaffed my
tormentors unmercifully. For their part they
had no answer ready. They seemed almost to
think that I had conjured up the panther for the

930

" CHOPPING HIM DOWN."

occasion. I thanked them most fervently for
coming to my rescue with such whole-hearted
good-will, and promised them that if ever again
I got into a tree with a panther I would send
for them at once. Then I set myself to doc-
toring the unfortunate oxen, whose lacerated
necks and shoulders we soon mended up with

impromptu plasters. And the owner of the
oxen gratefully vowed to me, If ever I see any
of the chaps a-laying for ye agin, an' any of my
critters is around, I '11 tip ye the wink, shore 1"
For which I thanked him very cordially, but
assured him that I hoped I could look out for
myself.

A DAY IN THE COUNTRY.

By LAURA E. RICHARDS.

,>; i ,'~ I ; I ;, ~ k

.1 :.. ** -..

I ~ ''I' 'ft(
2, qr. -
r''b

IV ~ -
I I ~ I I; .N
ilk" Cl

WE 'RE spending the day,
In the pleasantest way,
With Uncle Eliphalet Brown.
We may run at our ease,
And do just what we please,
And we never can do that in town.

For Quack! says the duck,
And the hen says Cluck "
And the chickens say "Peepity-wee!
And John milks the cow,
Though he does n't know how,
And we 're happy as happy can be.

TWO SURPRISE PARTIES.

By JOHN CLOVER.

USY sounds issued from a
country district school-house
one August day as the noon
hour drew near. The eye
of the day, undimmed by the
slightest mote of a cloud,
glared down on the wilting
fields and woods. The air was throbbing with
heat. The cattle had sought the shade. The
farmers and their teams were trying to keep
cool in the houses and barns.
But the precious noon hour, hot and dazzling
as was the day, must not in inactivity be lost to
the prisoners of the school soon to be set at
liberty. Among the boys, it was plain to be
seen, there was something unusual on the pro-
gramme for this day. A hornet's nest was to
be attacked!
Rations from bright tin pails were hastily de-
voured; the soldiery were marshaled, and the
little army started--the youth and valor of
District number nine, the flower of Smoky Val-
ley and Miami Hills. Nearly all were veterans
in warfare with many of the lance-armed tribes
of the field. On many a day had we fought
and vanquished the yellow-jackets. We had
stormed the castles of the wasps, and borne far
away their family treasures. We had attacked
the bumble-bees in the meadows, and robbed
their larders of stores of honey. But with the
hornets, those most retired but fiercest fighters
of all the lancers, few of us had ever been in a
regular engagement. In fact, only two had
seen any service against them; and these two
were appointed to act as our generals on this
eventful occasion.
The foe were said to be in an old apple or-
chard on a hillside traversed by ravines, half a
mile from the school-house. To' reach it we had
to cross a pasture-field, a corn-field, some stub-
ble, and a by-road that led to the gravel-beds of
a creek.

One faint heart faltered and turned back.
He was a town "mother's pet," in the neigh-
borhood on a visit. Two more deserted subse-
quently. In crossing the pasture, little Bunty"
Crook, armed with his bow and arrow, with
which he had become quite proficient, ran a
thorn through the tough sole of his bare, brown
foot; he threw himself on his back, a comrade,
with a pair of pincers improvised from jack-
knife and thumb, drew the torturing shaft; and
poor Bunty, with tears of anguish in his eyes,
but every ounce honest pluck, hobbled along in
the rear, leaving bloody footprints as did the
patriots at Valley Forge.
* We skirted the corn-field, its sword-blade
leaves twisted in the heat into the form of scab-
bards. "A snake! a snake!" Out of the weedy
border and in among the corn; with beaded
head high, erect, and fiery; forked tongue play-
ing like a splinter of lightning, ran a big, black
"racer." There was a sudden, startled halt, a
quick rallying of nerve, and a bold dash of pur-
suit into the forest of maize. Here he comes!"
"Hit him! "Look out! "There he is!"
"Run, run!" "Hurray!" and Rob Rankin,
the widow's son, nailed the snake with the stroke
of a shinney-stick across the ebony back, just
as he was gliding into an immense log heap
among the corn, where once ensconced he would
have been secure from a thousand boys. He
was soon dispatched and showed, from his ugly
jaws to the tip of his writhing tail (which we
believed would live until sun-down), just five feet
and ten inches by Sam Featherstone's tape-line.
Emerging from the corn, and crossing the
stubble and road, we cautiously entered the
grassy orchard. Here, all unconscious of im-
pending danger, the enemy were encamped.
It well behooved all now to be wary. The more
impetuous were ordered to the rear, with the
warning that a false step was likely to bring
upon us sore disaster. A commanding knoll

TWO SURPRISE PARTIES.

933

was reached, and, in silence, Sam Featherstone
pointed his fateful finger across a ravine in the
direction of a mammoth, lichen-covered tree.
There, sure enough, in plain view, was the
round lead-colored tent of the foe suspended
from one of the lowest boughs like a balloon, as
big as a bushel basket. Now and then a hornet
could be seen entering or leaving the nest by
the small opening at the bottom. A council of
war was held. What should be the tactics?
Should it be an open, square attack and battle,
with such weapons as we could provide ? or
should it be some species of strategy? Some
who had been the keenest advocates of a sharp,
hand-to-hand fight now gave indications of weak-
ening. One even suggested that the job be post-
poned until some day when it was cloudy and
raining, as the hornets then did not fight so hard.
Dan Bruner's plan was a masterpiece. It was
carried by acclamation of the whole army: Slip
up quietly; pop a plug of grass into that small
doorway; drag down the nest, and hurry off with
it, with such of the enemy as were at home se-
curely bottled up in their own fort. A bright
idea that, if successfully carried into practice.
But who would volunteer to do the plugging?
Dan Bruner, the great originator of the scheme,
was unanimously elected. He accepted the
office with an air of apparent reluctance and na-
tive modesty, which would have done credit to
an old diplomatist. He was one of the- veterans,
claiming to have seen considerable hornet-fight-
ing and to have felt more than once the point of
the javelins. Collecting a large handful of long,
dry grass, he twisted it into a hard bunch, and
started out on his perilous venture. By a cir-
cuitous route he crossed the ravine and carefully
approached the tree,-the lurking place of so
many foes. At length he reached the trunk on
the side opposite the nest; then he took off his
hat, wiped his streaming brow, and screwed up
his courage a little tighter. With the grass
stopper held out in advance, he crouched and
was moving slowly around the tree, when
"ping went Bunty's bowstring, and an arrow
piercing the nest half buried itself. Run, Dan,
run, as you value your life Out came three or
four stout fellows of the home-guard, or sentries

at the gate, to see what was the matter, and im-
mediately decided that Dan was the author of
the mischief. Inside the tent there was a hum-
ming and a drumming and sounding of a gen-
eral call to arms. The bewildered Dan, hesitat-
ing a moment, took the alarm, and plunged
across the ravine and into the midst of us with
a score of red-hot hornets about his ears or in
close pursuit. These generously divided their
attentions among us all. The attacking party
assumed the defensive without delay. An ear-
nest (if not masterly) retreat was unanimously
agreed upon, and it was as speedy as was consist-
ent with proper defense. Bayonet charge fol-
lowed bayonet charge. The home-guard fought
without mercy, and sharply pressed pursuit.
Hats were doffed, arms flung madly in air, and
howls of anguish uttered. One of our leaders
rolled in the grass in fierce combat with what
might have been the general in command of the
sortie, a fiery old warrior with a terrible scimiter.
A red-headed boy had an angry fencer entangled
among his glowing curls, burying its cruel dag-
ger to the hilt at every thrust.
It was a complete rout. We were driven
from the orchard, over the road, across the
stubble, and into the rustling corn, where we
managed to shake off our assailants. Our army,
who lately passed that way so hopeful and
courageous, was now scattered, broken, and ter-
rified. After some delay and much signaling,
our forlorn band was reassembled at a spring,
in an elm-tree's shadow, where we slaked our
burning thirst and recounted our wounds. Not
one had escaped. The light, scant summer
garments which we wore afforded poor protec-
tion against their keen weapons, and the enemy
did not need to be particular in selecting a spot
for a home-thrust. The presentation of our red,
swollen frontispieces at school, and at home in
the evening, caused us mortifying embarrass-
ment in addition to the physical pain which we
suffered.
Every soldier survived that terrible day, but
in the lonely orchard hung a hornet's nest, with
an arrow sticking in its side; and there it hung
and swung, without further molestation, until
the coming of the frosts.

A LITTLE BROWN WITCH.

By KATE W. HAMILTON.

THE last of the dark-faced children had de-
parted, and Ellice was alone in the deserted
school-room, with the afternoon sun slanting in
through the doorway which the retreating troop
had left open Her eye wandered mechanically
over books and desks to see that they had been
left in proper order, and half absently took note
of various little details that made this long,
low room unlike an ordinary school-room in
"the States "-the American flag draped above
the blackboard, the strange fern-like moss and the
oddly carved arrows that decorated her table,
and in one comer the little pile of white blan-
kets which, borrowed from the Home," had
served as a bed for the two or three babies
whose mothers came to be taught with their
children. It had been a trying day, and the
young teacher breathed a sigh of mingled weari-
ness and relief as she turned her gaze to the
outer world revealed by the window near her
-the distant line of buildings that marked the
village with its one short street, the mission
chapel and Home on the outskirts, the half-
ruined structure which told of a former Russian
occupation, and the fringe of Indian dwellings
straggling away in every direction. Low, half-
buried huts were many of these last, while
before the doors of the more pretentious
cabins stood queer, tall, curiously carved poles,
pointing their strange fingers skyward. Far-
ther away was the background of towering
Alaskan mountains, snow-crested here and
there, but seen through thin veils that robed
them in rose, amethyst, or emerald.
A breeze from the Pacific swept up the sound,
and rustled the papers at Ellice's elbow; and it
seemed to the girl like the voice of the wind
among the old maples at home,-a far-away
home where she was not "Teacher," but only
"Nell,"-and her thoughts wandered to the
dear circle there. So busy were memory and
fancy that the present and its surroundings were

forgotten. She did not heed a swift step, nor
notice that she was no longer alone, until a hand
touched her arm.
"Teacher, come "
The hurried voice, the agitated face, the an-
guish in the dark eyes bent upon her startled
Ellice to her feet at once.
"What is it, Taluma ? Tell me what has hap-
pened ?"
"My sister! My-little only one! They have
taken her for a witch / "
Ellice's face paled. One did not need to live
long in Alaska to learn all the horror of such a
statement, and Ellice, who knew how this sis-
ter's loyal heart was bound up in the life of the
little one, grew sick with the sudden blow.
"Oh, Taluma! are you sure? Who did it? "
But the Indian girl interrupted the question-
ing with an imperative gesture and imploring
cry:
"Oh, Teacher, come!"
"We must get help. We must go to the
Home," said Ellice, while she hastily donned
hat and shawl. But even while she spoke, a
swift remembrance flashed upon her that the
superintendent had that morning been called to
Fort Wrangell, and that the matron was just re-
covering from'illness.
No time; too late,-be too late," urged
Taluma in agonized protest. You come. Ca-
noe down there."
There seemed indeed nothing else that could
be done at once. The village to which Taluma
belonged was but three miles distant, and Ellice
reflected, as they hastened down to the beach,
that if they could reach the place before the
child was harmed, her influence, even though it
failed to procure release, might avail to stay
proceedings until more potent authority could
be summoned. Evidently that was Taluma's
hope. The white face, the civilized dress, the
English tongue, represented power; and yet she

A LITTLE BROWN WITCH.

935

knew,- alas, how well -the strength of super-
stition and hatred that would oppose her. She
had caught up the blankets that formed the bed
in the school-room, (the little one might need
them if they should be so fortunate as to bring
her back), and, with the deference of habit, she
arranged them for the teacher's seat; but she
scarcely seemed to breathe until the canoe
shot out into the water.
Once fairly under way, she was able to tell the
story-meager enough in its details-as it
had reached her through a friendly Indian. A
woman in the village had suddenly become ill,
and the "medicine-men," according to custom,
ascribed it to witchcraft. They had declared the
helpless little hunchback, a mere baby of seven
years, to be the witch who must suffer torture
and death.
"My little one! my darling!" moaned Ta-
luma in her native tongue.
Ellice's heart was hot, and her eyes were wet,
with indignation and pity. Poor Taluma, turn-
ing away from the darkness of the old life, had
struggled upward so bravely She and the lit-
tle sister were orphans, and the strong, coura-
geous girl had toiled for and shielded the little
one, lavishing upon her all the tenderness of
her untaught, hungry heart. She refused every
offer that would separate them, until an uncle,
the guardian of the girls, anxious to secure the
price that would be paid for her as a wife, and
enraged at her refusal to agree to his selecting
a husband for her, determined to carry out
his plan by force. Then, as the only alterna-
tive, Taluma ran away and begged for admit-
tance at the Mission Home. But the shelter
that received her was already full to overflowing.
There was no room, no suitable place, for the
little Wish, and, moreover, the enraged uncle
refused to give up the child. But his opposition,
which was due only to anger and not at all in
accord with his self-interest,- since there was
no prospect that any one would buy the crippled
girl for a wife,-had gradually softened in the
year and a half since Taluma, partly to com-
pensate for his loss but more to make him kind
toward little Wish, had carried him such peace-
offerings as she could contrive to earn; and it
was understood that as soon as the new wing
of the Home building should be finished, Wish

should come also. To Taluma, study and the
new ways had opened a whole world of hope and
aspiration. She drank in knowledge eagerly.
No other pupil learned so rapidly or improved
so marvelously, and it was all for the sake of
Wish,-hlttle Wish, who should be petted,
shielded, and taught, and should never again
feel the shadow of the old, hard life. Daily
Taluma's handsome face had been growing
brighter as she counted the weeks-only a few
--until the little one could be with her.
And now this had come!
"Would your uncle give her up to those
men ? Could not he protect her ?" questioned
Ellice.
Taluma shook her head. She well knew that
resistance often proved futile, even when the
accused had many friends; and for this poor
little orphan her uncle would not be likely to
imperil his own life.
"Not care enough for do that!" she said
bitterly.
Her strong young arms were well used to
paddling, and nerved by love and fear they sent
the light boat rapidly through the water. The
lights and shadows, the changing tints of sky
and wave, a glimpse of forest-clad islands, and
the varied beauty of the indented shore made
a picture of rare loveliness. But Taluma, with
gaze strained eagerly forward, saw only the dis-
tant point she longed to reach; and even Ellice,
trying amid a whirl of thought to form some
plan of action, was for once blind to the beauty
around her.
Frantic haste and anxious planning were alike
vain, however, for when they reached the village
Wish was gone; she had been carried away by
her captors and a motley troop of followers of
both sexes and all ages to a deserted camp
about two miles distant.
It was not easy to obtain details, for the ex-
citement of the accusation and arrest had aroused
all the superstition of the natives, their awe of
the Shaman* and the fear of witchcraft, and they
were inclined to hold themselves aloof from the
sister of the witch." There were also friends
and relatives of the sick woman who divined at
once the mission of the new-comers, and followed
them with lowering and suspicious glances.
Taluma's uncle was sullen and gloomy, and

* The "medicine-man."

A LITTLE BROWN WITCH.

seemed chiefly concerned about the "much
trouble that had been brought upon himself.
Ellice sought one of the head men of the vil-
lage, a chief whom, because of his knowing Eng-
lish and his long intercourse with the whites, she

r/
*'ff : j
I

I I.

*1l

ALASKAN GIRL.
hoped to influence; but he stoutly protested
his inability to do anything. He had "made
talk to the people," but they would not listen.
It would be not only useless but dangerous to
interfere. The people were enraged over.the
supposed discovery, and, moreover, had been
drinking hoochinoo until they were wild, and
whoever attempted to turn them from their
purpose would only draw vengeance upon him-
self. He positively refused to go with the girls
to seek the child's release, and declared that it
would be madness for them to go. It was unsafe
for them even to remain where they were; and
he counseled their immediate return, suggesting
that they could then send governor, soldier, big
missionary-man, to make talk to the natives.
The girls understood that this plea was urged
merely in the hope of getting rid of them, and
because the chief knew full well that long before
such aid could be summoned little Wish would
have met her doom. But there was nothing to
be gained from him, and they turned to go,
Taluma herself leading the way back to the
canoe as if she had accepted his decision. El-
lice's eyes swept wave and sky with a wild
thought of the network of wires that connected

all places in the United States. If they could but
telegraph to Sitka or Wrangell! But this land,
so beautiful, was desolately far from help.
Taluma silently pushed out into the water,
and then she turned a resolute face to her com-
panion.
Teacher, you go back. A little way down,
I leave you; some boat will find to take you."
"And what will you do, Taluma ? "
I will go to her -my poor baby my only
one! Again the tender names were wailed in
the Indian tongue.
Ellice looked at her through a mist of tears.
Back in her old New England home amid the
rustling maples was a little sister, the pet of the
household. A vision of that blue-eyed darling in
cruel hands, left alone to meet torture and death,
flashed upon Ellice.its sudden horror. If certain
death were before her she would never turn back
and leave her own, and she could not ask Taluma
to do so. Should she desert her? Memories,
hopes, all that made her young life sweet, rose
before her, but with them came some old words
about losing one's life to save it, and a pitiful
saving that was only losing.
"I will go with you," she said simply.
There was no answer in words, but the dark
eyes flashed upon her one eloquent look. Pres-
ently, as she turned the prow of her craft from
a little inlet into a narrower stream, Taluma ex-
plained:
"They go across land; it nearer by water.
I know the place."
It had been one of their summer villages or
camps, where the natives often met to gather
fish-eggs and berries and prepare them for win-
ter use. It was a lonely spot, and Taluma
moored her canoe where a heavy strip of wood-
land running far down toward the water would
conceal their landing, and might prevent the
boat from being seen. Having removed the
blankets, she took the further precaution of tak-
ing out the paddles also, so that, if the canoe
were discovered, it might not be taken away.
We will hide them," she said, leading the way
in and out among the trees and through the
undergrowth of dogwood, berry-bushes, and wild
roses that grew, in this sheltered spot, in almost
tropical luxuriance. She knew the ground well,
and soon paused where a tangled thicket had

936

[SEPT.

ii'

j

A LITTLE BROWN WITCH.

formed a natural bower. Passing through the
narrow opening, she hid paddles and blankets,
and came again to Ellice's side. They had de-
cided that whatever they did must be done
either through stealth or strategy, for even where
they stood there reached them the shouts
and yells of the drunken, dancing Indians,
clearly confirming all the chief had said. A
short distance from them, the thick grove dwin-
dled to a straggling fringe of trees; and beyond
that was a clearing. They cautiously made
their way forward, keeping out of sight, until

the long Alaskan day had just reached its twi-
light, and they could hope for no more favora-
ble opportunity, and whatever they did must be
done at once. After a hurried consultation,
Taluma emerged into the open space, while El-
lice, whose face and dress would at once have
attracted attention, remained behind the trees.
Cautiously seeming to mingle with the people,
yet keeping in the shade as much as possible,
and keeping away from any one who might
recognize her, the Indian girl slowly edged her
way toward the hut that held her treasure, until

IitiI'uRMlinflMiiWAla fKiNf-lNO.lli iml NI li Ift
ALASKAN WAR-CANOE.

the whole scene was before them--a blazing
fire, and the howling mob around it. At one
side some fresh earth had been thrown up, show-
ing where a shallow pit had been dug. Ellice
understood its significance, and shuddered--
these villagers buried their "witches" alive!
Taluma's quick eyes assured her that the form
she sought was not among the throng by the fire,
and she pointed to a half-ruined hut on the out-
skirts of the crowd, and whispered:
"She tied there, alone."
There was little need to whisper, for the din
was so great that loud speech would have been
unheard. It was late by Ellice's watch, but
VOL. XVII.- 115.

she stood in the shadow close beside it. The
firelight gleamed in through the half-open door,
dimly lighting up the rude interior. There were
crevices enough through which she could dis-
cern the poor little captive, cruelly fastened so
that her feet could scarcely touch the ground,
and with her hands bound behind her. Her
faint moan, a call on the only love she knew,
rent the sister's heart:
"Taluma! Taluma!"
Evidently the Indians did not dream of an
attempt at rescue. In the security of being all
of one mind and far away from any interfer-
ence, they made no special effort to guard

A LITTLE BROWN WITCH.

the cabin, and even the binding of the victim
was more a matter of ceremony than a precau-
tion against her escape. Occasionally, one of
the "medicine-men" entered to march in mys-
tic circle around her while performing some
mummery for the benefit of the sick woman, or
some valiant brave ventured inside the door to
shake his club at the poor little witch;" but for
the greater part of the time all were occupied
with the ceremonies at the fire.
Watching her opportunity, Taluma slipped
through the doorway. A low word of warning
to the little one, the swift cutting of the bands
that secured hands and feet, and in a minute or
two she was outside again with the child in her
arms.
She longed to fly, but dared make no hurried
movement. Slowly, with Wish now painfully
walking a few steps as less likely to attract ob-
servation, now lifted into the sister's strong
arms to save time, they retreated toward the
wood.
To Ellice, watching breathlessly, the dragging
minutes seemed ages; but Taluma had almost
reached the shelter of the trees when a sudden
cry near the hut announced that the escape was
discovered. Further caution was useless, and
Taluma darted forward with her burden; but
she was seen, and instant pursuit followed. The
girls had the advantage of knowing where they
were going, and they ran directly for the thicket;
while their pursuers, not near enough to keep
them in sight, now circled about almost aimlessly
through the bushes.
But their capture seemed only delayed. Cower-
ing in their hiding-place, the girls knew that it
could afford them but brief shelter. Taluma
clasped closely the little one whose trembling
arms clung to her neck, and waited in dumb de-
spair the vengeance her deed had provoked. To
Ellice, the fierce beating of the bushes, and the
shouts and cries, now nearer, now more distant,
were maddening.
It seemed to her intolerable to wait there in-
active until those terrible hands should seize her.
She felt a wild impulse to rush out and meet
death half-way, since die she must; and she
turned to the Indian girl with a questioning
glance.
Then suddenly, born of her very despera-

tion -or was it an inspiration ?-there darted
through her brain a plan, hazardous indeed, but
offering a faint gleam of hope. She caught up
one of the blankets and pinned it closely about
her throat, so that it would fall around her to
the ground. The other blanket she fastened to
one of the paddles, hastily twisting the top into
a rude imitation of a head. Then taking the
paddle in her hands, she held it up so that the
blanket fastened to it fell around the upper part
of her figure, concealing her head and forming
altogether a grotesque figure of stupendous
height.
Years before, in childish games at home, she
had played "tall white lady" with her merry
companions; but now her life hung on the suc-
cess of the weird representation, and every heart-
throb was a prayer as she crept out of the
thicket, slipped from tree to tree, and then
walked slowly out into a more open space,
where she would be seen. With trembling
limbs, but measured step, she traversed the lit-
tle glade.
In a moment, a deafening yell announced that
she had attracted attention, but the stillness that
instantly followed showed that the figure had
produced wonder if not terror.
That odd, white figure, supernaturally tall,
moving slowly along in the dim light, and seem-
ingly unconscious of any human presence, was
strange and weird enough to have startled any
beholder; and the effect on these ignorant and
superstitious natives, excited as they were by all
the conjuring of the afternoon, can scarcely be
described.
With that same strange, noiseless, swaying mo-
tion the ghostlike form slowly traversed a circle,
while the.awe-struck observers, huddled closely
together at a respectful distance, watched it
with staring eyes.
The first triumphant shout of discovery had
drawn nearly the whole party to the spot, and
Ellice felt that they must not be allowed to
examine too carefully, or have time for fa-
miliarity to lessen the first impression. So,
though her heart beat fast with fear, she turned
her steps deliberately toward them.
That was too much to be borne. With a howl
of terror they all turned and fled, the medicine-
men leading in the frantic race, and the specter

938

A LITTLE BROWN WITCH.

939

was left in full possession of the field. Gliding
cautiously toward the thicket, she summoned
Taluma; and, moving behind her, covered her
retreat to the boat. Speedily they swept down

-EY

,, t A;

',:" 'i

If.,.'-.:H

H .. .
:I v "t:,. s

Even then they strained their eyes anxiously
in every direction, and shrank in alarm from any
dark spot on the water. But they made the voy-
age unmolested, and reached home in safety.

"WITH A HOWL OF TERROR THEY ALL TURNED AND FLED."
the little river, starting at every sound, and only hands blissfully occupied with a doll, and her
breathed freely when they found themselves look of childish content answering with her voice
out upon the wider waters, to whoever asked her: Me Berry happy."

B3LEACHING FOR SUNDAY. half-open Dutch door; and this is the occasion seized
upon by the two men for refilling and lighting their pipes,
and drawing a few long whiffs, while they listen to a little village gossip.
At eleven o'clock the good vrouw appears at the door with koffj,jongens" (coffee, boys), and
they follow her into the adjoining room. It has a low, thatched roof of deep-yellow reeds, and
contains the great fireplace, where in damp weather the newly-made shoes are placed before the
fire to dry.
All their food is cooked in the same fireplace, excepting the bread, which in every peasant's
home is supplied by the baker.
The shoes are piled round the smoldering embers, often with the tea-kettle simmering among
them; and while the sap dries out, they give little groans, and sighs, as if they knew the hard fate
awaiting them when the time shall come for them to cover the feet of some sturdy Dutch peas-
ant or workman and to clatter over the pavements of the town.
After this morning's refreshment, which all of the peasants enjoy, they return to work.
After this morning's refreshment, which all of the peasants enjoy, they return to work.

~__
C :.

WOODEN SHOES.

Sometimes, among the piles of white shavings,
there are customers waiting to be fitted with
new shoes; and from the rows of shoes sus-
pended from the ceiling, and across the side
walls, for kinderen and grown folks, the right
size is always found.
The Hollanders make so many uses of wooden
shoes, one is persuaded to believe the Old
woman who lived in a shoe, and had so many

IN THE WORKSHOP.
children she did n't know what to do," was a
Dutchvrouw. The children turn shoes into boats,
and paint them a rich deep brown, in imitation
of the large boats which sail on the river Maas.
As they trim the tiny sails of their ships, and
launch them upon the waters of a sloot to some
imaginary Van Diemen's land, not to be found
in a geography, they seem possessed with the
same spirit which inspired the Dutch navigators
of earlier days.
There are very many sloots (which are deep
ditches full of water), used both to fence and to
fertilize the land; so the voyage of the shoe may
be a long one, and the owner of the little vessel
will have abundant opportunity to indulge in

dreams of future wealth to be realized "when
his ship comes in."
The boats that one may see on the rivers and
the coasts of Holland are not unlike the wooden
shoes in shape, and the same model may origin-
ally have served for both.
The school-boy, heated by play, stops beside
the nearest stream, pulls off his shoe, and fills it
with water, which he drinks with as much satis-

MAKING WOODEN SHOES.

faction as if it were a delicious draught from a
silver cup.
Wooden shoes are ornamental as flower-pots,
and many a bright flower whose roots are
firmly bedded in a shoe has graced the window
of some peasant's cottage a joy to the owner,
and a pleasure to the passing traveler.
They are useful as hammers, and it is not
uncommon to see a koofman (merchant) by the
wayside, with a few taps of his shoe mending
his cart, piled high with yellow carrots or little
round Dutch cheeses, while his dogs rest in the
traces.
These shoes also take the place of the obso-
lete birch-rod of our grandmothers' days. The

942 WOODEN SHOES.
the military regularity, like the sound of an
advancing regiment.
Saturday is the great cleaning day in Rijsoord,
when everything is made ready for Sunday, the
day of rest. The houses are scrubbed inside
and out, and among the pots and kettles, are
seen the wooden shoes; these, scoured snowy
white, hang upon forked sticks near the doorway
to dry in the wind and sun as you may see them
in the picture at the beginning of this article.
The morning brings the sound of klumpen
along the dikes, and rows of people are seen
walking toward the kirk. At the door they
leave their shoes, like faithful servants, to await
their return later, after a three hours sermon by
SI the dominie.
S", In the afternoon, the young men and women
.".- S .' stroll up and down the Promendijk, which is the
S- "Fifth Avenue" of the village-its general
S promenade and meeting place. They exchange
S -:=- nods and friendly greetings until sundown, when

-7-f

THE WOODEN SHr.
DRINKING-CU F.

quaint cap of spot-
less white, with
gold spiral pins,
called krullen,
placed above
the ears, does
notlookvery
much like
such grand-
mothers as
we have
known, but
her disci-
pline re-
sembles -
theirs in sever-
ity if not in kin i.
During the week,
after school hours, the little
girls walk along the dikes in rows, DRYING SHOES BEFORE THE FIRE.
knitting; and the clatter of their shoes, to an the busy week begins again, and the wooden
ear unfamiliar with it, is, except that is without shoes soon take on their week-day coat of tan.

MY TRIPLE PLAY.

By THoMAS WORTHINGTON KING.

THE road leading to the ball-ground was
thronged on that Saturday afternoon, for the
juniors and the seniors of the Ridge Academy
were to play the deciding game of the series
for the school championship, each having won
seven of the fifteen games that constituted the
year's contests. The vacations at "Ridge's"
came in the spring and fall, with recesses of a
few days at Christmas and at Easter. From
the middle of June until the middle of Sep-
tember was the "long term," and during the
Wednesday and Saturday half-holidays the base-
ball games were played.
"Ridge's" ranked high among boarding-
schools. The location was healthful, the vil-
lage a pleasant one, the climate salubrious, and
the surroundings were of a kind to admit of all
sorts of sport. The long hill road that led to
the banks of the creek, where the boys swam in
summer and skated in winter, furnished admir-
able coasting facilities during the latter season,
and the elevated plateau on which the village
stood provided superb ball-grounds, for which
nature had done so much that art could make
little improvement.
To the right and left of the catcher's posi-
tion, and far enough away not to interfere with
that important factor in a well-contested game,
stood a dozen or more tall trees that afforded
welcome shade to the batting nine and specta-
tors. From the home-plate to center-field the
smooth turf lay as even as the top of a table,
and the diamond was without a flaw. Decep-
tive bounds of swift grounders and resulting
black eyes or bruised noses were unknown on
the grounds of the Ridge Academy Base-ball
Club.
Long before the hour set for the game-
three o'clock-the shady places under the trees,
where benches had been placed, were packed
with spectators; for Ridge's was one of the feat-
ures of the village and all the residents were

deeply interested in whatever concerned the
school. Besides, there were numerous summer
visitors then sojourning at the hotel and at the
various boarding-houses, and, as many of them
were friends or relatives of the school-boys,
they were very enthusiastic attendants.
There was a predominance of lavender ribbons
as it happened, for lavender was the junior class-
color. The nine of that class was the favorite,
and one reason was that though the younger and
the weaker club they had held their own so well
against the brawny giants who composed the
seniors' nine; for the juniors were the lowest
class in school. Next above them came the
lower middle class, then the upper middle, and
finally the seniors; so that it was a contest not
only between the "senior" and "junior" classes,
but also between the senior and junior members
of the school.
By two o'clock most of the juniors were on
the ground, and by half-past all were there, and
practicing furiously. They were slim, slightly
built lads, but coached by their captain and
short-stop -"Jack Scoop," they called him-to
a remarkable excellence in throwing and running.
Jack himself was a phenomenon, and had in-
fused a large amount of his own fire, activity,
and accuracy into his "team." Splendid field-
ers, all of them, they made up in this respect
for their weakness at the bat.
At stealing bases they were most expert
thieves. Let one of them but reach first base
on a hit or an error, and second was easy prey
for him. The modern catapult that officiated in
the "box" for the seniors, and the catcher of
the same nine, knew this thoroughly, and many
were the schemes concocted to catch a runner.
But generally, on the first ball pitched he was
off for second, and in nine cases out of ten
gained it by a desperate slide, while the verdict
" Safe!" from the umpire, and a storm of cheers
from the crowd, gladdened his heart as he dusted

MY TRIPLE PLAY.

his padded trousers, and smiled kindly on the
discomfited second-base man.
Shortly before three o'clock, the seniors
reached the ground, looking handsome and
strong in their blue uniforms; and their blue-
ribboned friends greeted them warmly and cast
pitying glances on the juniors in their gray suits
with lavender trimmings. For ten minutes the

its normal state, and I played as coolly as if
this were the first, instead of the last, of the
championship series.
Our catcher was not at his best that day,
and three or four bases had been stolen with
impunity. All of his throws to me had been a
little slow or a trifle wild, and although I had
not let a ball pass me, I had not, as yet, put a

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"'I LEAPED WITH HAND OUTSTRETCHED HIGH IN THE AIR, AND AS THE SWIFT-LINER FLEW OVER MY HEAD,
MY FINGERS CLUTCHED AND HELD THE BALL.'"

seniors practiced, and then Captain "Scoop"
and the catcher of the senior nine tossed
up," and the juniors were sent to the bat,
having lost the first point in the day's pro-
ceedings.
The game progressed rapidly, with few er-
rors, few runs, and many close decisions, none
of which, however, were disputed. The umpire
was the left-fielder of a noted college nine and
he excited the awe and admiration of every boy
on the field. I was playing second-base on the
juniors' nine, and if at the beginning of the
game my heart was in my mouth, who can
blame me ? But as the game went on that im-
portant feature of my organization had resumed

man out at second base; a couple of flies,
half-a-dozen assists to first, and one to home,
constituted my fielding, up to that time.
At the bat I had been more fortunate, having
made two well-timed singles that helped won-
derfully, and in our half of the ninth inning I had
driven the ball for three bases, sending it over the
left-fielder's head, bringingin two runs, andperch-
ing on third with ease. These two runs tied
the score.
A moment or two later a desperate dash
for home resulted in a momentary fumble by
the catcher in his excitement. I slid. "Safe!"
cried the umpire; and we were one ahead. The
next man went out and we took the field amid

[SEPT.

MY TRIPLE PLAY.

945

an excitement unparalleled in the history of
base-ball at Ridge's.
The strain was too much for our pitcher. The
first senior to the bat made first-base on a
"scorching" grounder past-third; a moment
later he was forced to take second by a base on
balls. It was too bad! With the most daring
runner of the senior nine on first, and their heav-
iest hitter at the bat, our chances seemed small
and the outlook was gloomy.
Watch for home, boys! cried Captain Jack,
and we played close. I got inside the base-line,
some distance from second, while Jack watched
the runner.
A ball or two had been pitched, when crack!
went the heavy bat against the ball, as the
batter swung it with all his might, and, almost
without knowing it, I leaped with hand out-
stretched high in the air, and as the swift-

liner flew over my head, my fingers clutched
and held the ball. The man on first, thinking
the hit safe, had taken a long lead and was near
second when I caught the ball, while the man
on second, with equal confidence, had started
in a very leisurely way for third. I touched the
one nearest as he passed me and with the same-
impulse darted to second. The senior had turned,
but it was too late; I reached the bag, and Out!"
" Out!! Out!!! came in such quick succes-
sion from the umpire that the second and third
word sounded like quick echoes. The side was
out; the game was won !
I have played many games of base-ball since,
but never again have I felt the glow of exul-
tation and pride I experienced when the umpire
took my hand and said:
My boy, that was the neatest play I ever
saw on a ball-field!"

BAT, BALL AND DIAMOND.

BY WALTER CAMP.

FIFTH PAPER:

BATTING AND BASE-RUNNING.

THE importance of a strong out-field can
hardly be over-estimated. Nine out "of every
ten close games are won by the ability of the
out-fielders to cover ground. When a grounder
is batted to an in-fielder and he makes an error,
it usually results that all runners who are on the
bases advance each one base. But when there
are men on first, second, and third, and a bats-
man drives a hard line hit which the right-fielder
misjudges and allows to go over his head, it re-
sults in three runs, and is likely to decide the
game. No amount of time and labor should be
begrudged, therefore, in making these men strong
and capable, for the outlay will be returned with
interest in every close game the nine may play.
VOL. XVII.- I6.

The out-fielders can be instructed generally as
to the principles of their positions, but individual
coaching is the only thing that will make them
keep up to the mark. In the first place, all
fielders are likely to fall into the habit of starting
slowly, not moving until they see where the ball
is coming, or they may become careless in their
way of handling the ball. For this reason each
man should receive some systematic coaching
every day.
The left-fielder should work in harmony with
the shortstop in the matter of taking the short
flies. These two players should arrange before-
hand which shall take the ball, although the
fielder should take it if possible. There are
two reasons for this : First, because the fielder
is sure to be facing the diamond, while the
shortstop may be running with the ball, and
hence turned away from the in-field. Second,

BAT, BALL, AND DIAMOND.

because the fielder should, from continual prac-
tice, be better able to handle quickly and return
speedily ordinary flies.
The throwing of a left-fielder, beyond the or-
dinary return of the ball to the pitcher by way
of shortstop or second base, is usually to third
or home. He is seldom required to throw to
first; as, in case of a fly to left when a runner is
on first, there is usually ample time for this run-
ner to return to his base, after the fly is caught,
before the ball could reach that base. His
throwing practice should therefore be directed
toward third and home-principally to the lat-
ter. He should keep the ball down, sending it
in as nearly as possible on a line and just a little
to the third-base side of home. This last re-
quirement, while it may seem to be asking too
much of the fielder, is a vital one. If the ball
come at all on the other side of the plate, there
is little chance of its catching the runner, and
for this reason the fielder should be persistently
trained to throw a trifle to the catcher's left.
He must be continually cautioned not to make
a high throw; but if he cannot put the ball di-
rectly into the catcher's hands on the fly, he
must at least send it so that it reaches the
catcher on the first bound. It is remarkable
how little the progress of a low-thrown ball is
delayed by its once touching the ground; and
it is also noticeable how convenient it is for a
catcher to handle a ball taken on the bound in
putting it on a runner. When a left-handed man
is at the bat, unless he have some well-known
peculiarity of batting into left field, the left-fielder
will do well to come in a little nearer.
The center-fielder occasionally has to be on
the same terms with the second-base man, in
regard to taking a fly, as those existing between
the shortstop and the left-fielder; and about the
same rules should govern the two players as those
laid down for the shortstop and left-fielder. His
throwing, also, should be directed to third and
home, but he will have an occasional opportu-
nity of fielding to first after a fly catch. In case
he has to throw to first, the pitcher should back
up the first-base man, remembering that there
is no shortstop on that side of the field to per-
form this duty. The center-fielder should al-
ways back up second quite closely, when the
catcher throws down to that base, in order to

prevent the runner from going on to third. All
the fielders, after catching a fly, should exercise
judgment about throwing home in order to cut
off a runner, whenever there are other runners
on the bases.
An excellent illustration of this feature of out-
field play occurred during a match between the
Yale nine and the Brooklyns, in a game played
in the city of Brooklyn. It was the ninth in-
ning, and the Yale nine were one run ahead.
The Brooklyns were at the bat, with one man
out, a man on second, and a man on third. The
batsman knocked a fly to left. The ball was fall-
ing near the left-fielder. The man on third, know-
ing that if he made his run it would tie the
score, stood on third ready to try for the plate
whether the ball was dropped or caught. The
man on second, feeling that his run would be
needed to win, was naturally anxious to lead
well off toward short, so that if the ball were
dropped he could surely get in. He counted,
of course, upon the fielder's attempting, if he
caught the ball, to intercept the man who was
running from third. The play happened ex-
actly as this latter runner expected. The Yale
left-fielder caught the ball and drove it home;
but the runner beat it in, and the man on
second had time to touch his base after the
catch, and still reach third. This tied the score,
and Brooklyn eventually won. Had the left-
fielder recognized his opportunity, he might
easily have saved the game by fielding to second
instead of home. The man starting from second
would then have been the third man out; and
he would have been put out while the runner
from third was still several feet from the home-
plate, so that no run would have been scored.
The right-fielder has, in addition to his throw
to the plate, a throw to first. This latter is
worth practicing faithfully, as, if successful, it
cuts off what would otherwise be a safe hit.
The selection, however, of a man for this posi-
tion on the strength of his throwing alone, and
his ability to execute that one play, cannot be
too strongly condemned. A man to perform it
successfully should run' up to meet the ball, and,
after catching it, should throw it without appre-
ciably slackening speed.
I have seen the professional player Kelly
make this play as it should be made. It was in

946

[SEPT.

BAT, BALL, AND DIAMOND.

947

a game between the New Yorks and Chicagos,
when he was a member of the latter nine. He
had been catching, but having hurt a finger
slightly, was replaced by Flint, and went out
into right field. There were two men out and
a man on third when one of the New Yorks
sent a sharp hit past Anson on first base. The
ball was whizzing along at a sharp pace; and
Kelly, with his hair flying, came running in on
it as if he were running for the plate. A scoop
of his hands and a sharp drive of his arm, and
the ball shot into Anson's hands a fraction of a
second ahead of the runner, and the side was
out.
BATTING.

IN turning to the other, the aggressive side
of the game, the batting, one finds even a
greater necessity for education and experience
than in the fielding. The majority of bgys and
men become fairly proficient in fielding long
before they have acquired the ability to judge
and to bat hard pitching. Occasionally a man
will be found who, having a naturally good
eye, will manage to use the bat fairly well as
soon as he takes it up; but usually even such
a man is entirely at the mercy of a skilled
pitcher, and it is quite unusual to find among
boys who have played for years more than a
few good hitters. If, then, a boy will pay atten-
tion to the principles and try his best, he will
with practice make himself more valuable to a
nine than any of his comrades; for batting is
more than half the game, although many
amateur captains are led by the remarkably
clever fielding of some players to forget this
fact when making up their nines. A true eye,
ability to concentrate the muscular force in-
stantly, and plenty of courage, are the requisites
for a good hitter. The batsman must endeavor
to swing the bat as nearly on a line as possible,
and must not "chop" at the ball. This proper
swing he can readily acquire in his indoor
practice. He should assume an easy position,
slightly facing the pitcher, most of his weight
resting upon the foot nearest the catcher. Just
as the ball is delivered he should advance the
foot nearest the pitcher and if the ball prove a
good one, swing the weight of his body into
the stroke as he meets the ball with his bat.

He should not strike with all his' might and
main, as if he were intending to make nothing
except a home-run, for these violent batsmen
are not usually successful hitters. It does not
require the greatest expenditure of muscular
force to make a long hit, but the proper meet-
ing of the ball and the putting the weight of
the shoulders into the stroke. The bat should
be firmly grasped and the arms well straight-
ened and free from the sides when the ball is

hit. The weight of the body is to be coming
forward, and the trunk should be slightly turn-
ing upon the hips. Early in the season it is
best to strive to meet the ball squarely, rather
than to hit out hard, for this method improves
the eye and judgment far more rapidly than
indiscriminate hard hitting. After a good eye
has been acquired, the batsman may throw
more force into his batting with a certainty of
meeting the ball fairly. "Sacrifice" hitting and
"placing" the ball are usually mere matters
of luck to the average amateur; but a little
attention to the principles of batting will enable
any batsman to acquire some measure of con-
trol over the direction of his hitting. A dia-

BAT, BALL, AND DIAMOND.

gram will illustrate the principles quite clearly.
If the ball be met in front of the base, and the
forward foot be drawn away slightly, the ten-
dency of the ball will be to go on the same
side of the diamond as that upon which the
batsman stands; while if the ball be met behind
the base, and the forward foot placed a little
nearer the base, the tendency of the ball will be
to go toward the opposite side.
The ordinary batsman will do well not to

S/l,

BASE-RUNNER KEEPING ON TO THIRD.

sacrifice his hitting to any false idea of placing
all his hits; for he should consider that when
there are no men on bases, unless he be a
thoroughly experienced batsman, he will do best
to assume his most natural position, and not
be over-particular as to the exact point toward
which the ball goes. If a nine will but keep
the ball going by sharp hits, their opponents
will be obliged to "play ball" to prevent scor-
ing; and that thought should be continually in
the mind of the batsman.
Base-running is hardly less important than
batting; for by it the batting is made to yield
what. really count namely, runs. Any one
who follows the scores closely, sees many cases
where a nine make fewer base-hits and more
errors than their opponents, and yet win the
game. This may be due to "bunching the

hits," or to a lucky combination of hits and er-
rors, but it is usually accompanied by good
base-running. Whenever a close game is played,
superiority in base-running is usually enough to
determine the winner. The necessity of quick
starting has already been dwelt upon, and is the
underlying principle of success. Good judg-
ment comes next; for when a man is on a base
and the ball is batted, he may take chances up
to what appears to be the very limit of reckless-
ness, and yet seldom make the
mistake of being put out. He
does this through reliance upon
his knowledge of what his
._ 4,.> opponents can and will do
at each moment.
-. A few instances will illus-
S trate this. A runner is on first
base, and the batsman drives
p"-.J" a grounder between first and
second. The average amateur
will run to second, and turn
to see whether the right-fielder
has the ball; and if the fielder
has stopped the ball the runner
will not go further. If, how-
ever, the runner has thor-
S oughly thought out this par-
ticular combination, he will be
ready to take a more daring
view of the play, and, instead
6f stopping at second, he will
go straight on for third. This is not nearly so
reckless as it appears, provided the runner be
fast, and also provided that he has made up his
mind at the start exactly what he will do. It
is not an easy throw from right field to third,
and the right-fielder, if he be playing at all
close in, is very likely to be thinking of throw-
ing the runner out at first; and he will there-
fore lose track entirely of the other runner.
Another excellent feature of the attempt is,
that if the right-fielder make a wild throw,
as he often does in his surprise, there is a strong
probability of the runner's going on to the
home-plate. Thus, what was only an oppor-
tunity to take second may be quite easily
turned into a run. The majority of amateurs
are thoroughly familiar with the advisability of
coming home from second on a base-hit, but

948

[SEPT.

BAT, BALL, AND DIAMOND.

949

when the hit is made very few of them are really
in the best position to take advantage of it.
The runner should not try to take too great a
lead before the pitcher lets the ball go, but
should move well up as the ball is delivered, so
that if the hit be made he may have a flying
start. He should not be just in the base-line,
but back of it slightly, so that he may not have
quite so sharp a turn to make in going by third.
There are, of course, innumerable combinations
that may arise, any one of which lends some
new element for the consideration of the base-
runner, but there are a few facts which are
worth remembering. One of these is, that a
fielder who has made an error by dropping or
fumbling a ball is very prone to make another
error in his throw if the base-runner take a dar-
ing chance. Yet another point is, never to
assist a fielder by letting him touch the runner
with the ball when the fielder is seeking to make
a double-play. This is most likely to happen
when a man is on first and another on second,
and the ball is batted between third and short,
but so that either of those fielders stops it. A
third point for the consideration of the runner is,
always to force the fielders to throw the ball
when it can be done without sacrifice on his
part. This can be accomplished frequently, and
it always affords an opportunity for an error.
The same rule applies to tempting a pitcher to
throw to bases. To lead him to throw fre-
quently will probably make his pitching irregu-
lar, and this favors the batsman and troubles
the catcher.
One of the most delicate points of base-run-
ning is taking advantage of fly catches. Natu-
rally, every one is thoroughly familiar with the act
of running home from third on a long fly caught
by an out-fielder, for this is the simplest case,
but the taking a base on a fly catch when the ap-
parent odds are not so strongly on the side of the
runner requires good judgment and a cool head.
For instance, there is a runner on second and a
high foul fly is batted over first base almost into
the crowd of spectators. The first-base man is
running for the ball and away from the plate

so that his back is turned toward third. The
clever runner on second stands with his toe just
touching the bag, and the instant the first-base
man catches the ball he is away like a shot for
third. The first-base man, whose mind has been
thoroughly occupied in catching the ball and
not falling in the crowd, is startled by the cry
" Look out for third! and he turns hastily and
throws, but the distance is a long one, his posi-
tion poor for throwing, and the runner's lead
enables him to make the base before the ball
reaches the third-base man.
There are many emergencies in base-running
which call for attempts when desperate chances
must be taken. But every runner should always
have the possibilities of the situation in his mind
at all times; then if it seem wise at the critical
moment to take the chance, he will be prepared
to make the most of it.

SHUTTING OFF A RUNNER AT THE IIOME-PLATE,

To sum up, the duty of the player, as soon
as he becomes a base-runner, is to be one bun-
dle of activity, actuated by the keenest desire to
take advantage of any misjudgment or weak-
ness of his adversaries.

THROUGH THE BACK AGES.

BY TERESA C. CROFTON.

FIFTH PAPER.
The Era of Strange Reptiles.

THERE was once a time, in the history of this
earth, when the frogs were as large as oxen,
when lizards were larger than elephants, when
sea-monsters swam through the ocean with
necks as long as the longest snake you ever
saw, and when there were dragons that could
take flying leaps by the aid of wings twenty-
seven feet across.
These sound like tales from a wonder-book;
yet they are absolutely true. The world was
then the haunt of enormous sea-monsters and
huge creeping animals. We cannot be sure that
our dragon sent forth fire from its nostrils, as
did the one in the story of St. George and the
Dragon, but Hugh Miller says he did emit
smoke. The frog-like animal, of which I spoke
first, had a head three or four feet long and teeth
three inches long. Although it was as large as-
an ox, it had all the characteristics of a frog.
Its feet were peculiar, and left impressions in
the sand very much like those which might be
made by human hands of colossal size.
Possessing a frog-like nature, the creature
would instinctively haunt spots where it could
find moisture and water. The inference is that
the places where these footprints are found
were once lakes, whose waters, evaporating under
the heat of the sun, left beds of mud over which
these gigantic fellows jumped or walked, leaving
their footprints. The sun baked the mud, and
the footprints hardened before the water again
flooded the lake. In the Connecticut Valley
these fossil footprints are very plentiful. Some
are those of reptiles, and others are those of
animals that were partly bird and partly reptile.
A great many geologists think the latter were
wholly birds; but this question is by no means
decided.
Impressions of raindrops also have been found,

so perfect that they show the very way the wind
was blowing when they fell.
There has been preserved one great slab of
stone upon which is the track of an animal whose
foot was twenty inches long and twenty-one
inches wide. Another creature a bird, per-
haps,- made footprints twenty inches long, and
the distance between them shows that it had a
stride of six feet.
These great birds if they were birds are
supposed to have frequented the shores, in search
of fishes, and were, therefore, like wading-birds,
but gigantic in size.
An extraordinary creature of this time was the
"fish-lizard." It had a head like a lizard, jaws
and teeth like a crocodile, the backbone of a
fish, the paddles of a whale, and the trunk and
tail of a quadruped. The first skeleton of this
animal was discovered in England by a country
girl. She used to make her living by selling
fossils, which were very abundant in her native
place. One day she discovered some bones
projecting froni a cliff. Clearing away the
rubbish, she found that they belonged to the
skeleton of an animal embedded in the rock.
She hired some workmen to dig out the entire
rock,, and the monster proved to be thirty feet
long. What a sensation it created! That re-
gion, Lyme Regis, was found to be a veritable
graveyard of these wonderful animals. The
jaws of some of them were eight feet long
and contained one hundred and sixty teeth.
Whenever a tooth was lost in a conflict, a dupli-
cate tooth in the jaw was ready to take its place.
Their eyes were larger than a man's head, and
possessed of very powerful and far-seeing vision,
so that no matter how dark the sea nor how far
distant its prey, there could be no escaping those
eyes! Its stomach was like a great pouch, and
it swallowed its food without chewing. It was
so greedy a monster that it ate even smaller
animals of its own kind!

THROUGH THE BACK AGES.

Nobody can say for certain whether its skin
was covered with scales or not. Still, as no re-
mains of scales have been found, it was probably
soft and smooth. It had to come up to the sur-
face to breathe, like a whale, and perhaps it had
"blowers to blow out water. What a commo-
tion it must have made !
Another animal of this family had the head of
a serpent upon the neck of a gigantic swan. It
was fitted for quicker motion than the fish-
lizard. It probably swam on the surface like a
swan, and thrust its long neck down in search of
prey.
The most wonderful of all, however, was the
"dragon," of which I told you. It is called by
a hard Greek name which we will translate into
"wing-finger." There were two points in which
it resembled a bat: its eyes were so formed that
it could see in the dark; and it had enormous
wings joined to its claws like those of a bat. It
was probably a water animal, whose wings were
used to take flying leaps through the air, as the
flying-fish does, but probably it could remain
longer on the wing.
To add to the number of these monsters which
swept through the deep, there was a lizard who
could live only on the bottom of the sea.
The woods and plains swarmed with enor-
mous creeping reptiles now called by a name
signifying terrible-lizards," armored in massive
scales, which in some species stood upright on
their backs. They were taller than the tallest
elephant, and much longer and clumsier.
Insects had begun to be numerous, especially
the beautiful dragon-flies, which perhaps were
often caught and eaten by the terrible flying
dragons. There were also ants, crickets, grass-
hoppers, beetles, two-winged flies, and land and
water bugs. A few fragments of butterflies'
wings have been found, showing that there
were some flowers.
The banks of the rivers and lakes were crowded
with crocodiles and tortoises, and the voice of
the turtle was heard in the land." A shelled
animal known as the ammonite" flourished
during this age, and died out at its close. Its
shell was curved like a ram's horn,-very tightly
in those living at the beginning of the age. It
was exquisitely carved and furnished with arched
chambers inside. Through all these chambers

ran a tube, which the animal could fill with water
or empty, at its pleasure, so as to sink to the bot-
tom or rise to the surface. Later their shells were
more loosely rolled into shapes of exceeding
beauty. Some curved like a shepherd's crook,
and others looked as if they had been curled
tightly and the middle point pulled up, so as to
form a turret. Every tiny speck of these was
delicately carved.
There was another shelled animal of this age,
of whose skeleton only one bone has come down
to us. It is like a cylinder in shape and very
slender. When they were first found, people
did not know what they were, and so they called
them thunder stones and "lady's-fingers."
In place of floating on top of the sea, like the
ammonites, these probably swam near the bot-
tom. They look something like the "sinkers"
boys put on fish-lines.
The first animal of the family to which man
belongs, the mammals, began life during this
period. It was a peculiar kind of mammal, of
which we have few representatives at the present
day. It carried its young in a pouch, as do the
opossum and the kangaroo. It was not until
the next age, however, that the mammals made
their appearance in great numbers.
Red sandstone was again very abundant; and
the age is often called the New Red Sandstone
Period." In some places this stone is mottled.
The beautiful cathedrals on the Rhine, particu-
larly Strasburg and Freiburg, are made of this
mottled red sandstone.
This was a great chalk-making age. The
Dover Cliffs, on the southeastern shore of Eng-
land, are composed entirely of chalk made at
this time. They give England a white look
when seen from France; and it was formerly
called "Albion," some think from the Latin word
albus," meaning white." Chalk is made from
the bodies of very tiny animals, visible only under
a powerful microscope. We are told that when
we draw a line on the blackboard, we deposit
there thousands of the shells of these little crea-
tures.
The forests were thickly filled with pines and
cypresses. Some trees with fluted and beauti-
fully carved trunks yet adorned the scene, and
the magnificent tree-ferns still waved their plumy
fronds in the balmy air. A few blades of grass

952 THROUGH TH
peeped up here and there, making ready for the
green meadows to come by and by. Palms
and lilies appeared, the swamps were covered
with reedy plants, and the wide plains were thick
with underbrush. The sun shone-with a warm
light on the red sea-sands, for the air had in great
measure lost its impurities and mists, or there
would have been no air-breathing animals.
And the animals! The monstrous creatures
were everywhere.

E BACK AGES.
. The surging interior was still uneasy. Once
in a while it would force itself .ut on the sur-
face.- Toward the close of the age, convulsions
took place which made great changes. No
longer was it-a world of wide, qat plains and
shallow marshes. Mountains were thrown .up
and rivers began to flow. In the confusion
so many plants and animals were killed, that
some geologists think that the next age began
with an entirely new creation of animate life.

ALL day long the snow came tumbling down
on the trees and evergreen bushes of the woods
wherein the little gray rabbit had his home, or,
rather, his homes; for, in various parts of the
woods he had beds under brush piles, and in
more than one upturned root he had also a
deep hole in which he could take refuge if ever
the fox, his old-time foe, should press him too
hard. It was the first snow of the season, and
Bunny did not like it at all; for he had not a
white coat and thick furry boots for winter
like his cousin the white hare, but winter and
summer was compelled to go in the same
clothing. He did not usually move about
much in daylight, for too many of his enemies
were then abroad; besides, the glare of the
sun hurt his eyes. Now, with the additional
reason of the ground being covered with snow,
he did not move an inch from his bed all day.
But at evening the snowfall ceased. The little
gray rabbit was beginning to feel very hungry;
so, bracing up his courage, much as a boy does
when going into a cold bath, he jumped out of his
bed under the brush pile and into the snow.
Hop-hop-hoppety-hop he went, making his way
through the familiar though now strange-looking
thickets toward his regular feeding-grounds.
It was not so very easy, however, to find his
favorite herbs; for six inches of snow lay on
everything, and he had to go from place to
place, picking a few blades wherever he could
find them sticking through the snow.
VOL. XVII.- 117. 95

THE TRUE
STORY OF A LITTLE
GRAY RABBIT.
9B. ERE*T E. Ti-i -MPSON.

When, after an hour or more, the moon arose
and everything was lighted up nearly as in day-
time, Bunny was still running about nibbling the
grass and plant stems. Presently he heard the
"hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo" of the homed owl, and
knowing that it was dangerous to run about much
when the owl was near, he hopped quietly away
toward his brush pile. Then, shortly afterward,
he heard a noise which made him stop and sit up
with his broad ears erect to make out the nature

trot; snap; grind, grind, grind, went the sounds,
not more than fifty yards behind him; but still
Bunny listened, for he knew it was no owl but
must 'be some large animal. What had he to
STHE TRLiE

fear from anything on four legs ? Still nearer
cae the tramping, and still Bunny waited,
CRAY RABBIT.

B, ERNL:T E. TH,:,MPSON.

When all after once ahour or more, the moon aroseo-ow
and everychoed thing was lighted up nearly as in day-
time, Bunny was still running about nibbling the
grass and plant stems. Presently he heard the

Bunny sawhoo-hoo, hoo-hoorm of a hound rush by, bound
knowing over that it was dangerous to run about muchack.
when At so short a distance on the shopped quietly ar
toward his brush pile. Then, shortly afterward,

moonlight heard a noise which made himcan easily see a rabbit upa
with his broad ears erect to mforth every effort to
increof thase sound. Tramp speed, tramp,while his baying beomest, trot,
deafenitrot; snap; grind, grind, grcontinuous, went the sounds, cal-
culanot more than fify even an experiend him; but still
and so it was now. Our little friend didit was no owl but

ally fear the hounds very much, since he had often
mustbeen chased by them, animal. Whahad had little difficulty
fear from anything on four legs ? Still nearer
came the tramping, and still Bunny waited,
when all at once a rolling bass "booo-ooo-ow "
re-echoed through the woods, and in an instant
Bunny saw the form of a hound rush by, bound-

ing overluding the snow on his tral tricks which he
At so short a distance young. Indeed, in the clear
moonlight, a hound can easily see a rabbit; and
when, he does so he puts forth every effort to
increase his speed, while his baying becomes
deafening and almost continuous, and is cal-
culated to terrify even an experienced old rabbit;
and so it was now. Our little friend did not usu-
ally fear the hounds very much, since he had often
been chased by them, and had had little difficulty
in eluding them by several tricks which he
learned when quite young. Indeed, he had

'- "=Ssi?-

THE TRUE STORY OF A LITTLE GRAY RABBIT.

on several occasions actually played with the
dogs, leading and misleading them to his great
amusement, and finally throwing them off alto-
gether without having to make use of his last
resource: running into one of his burrows. But
the present pursuit was so sudden, and the rabbit
was so taken by surprise, that he completely lost
his presence of mind, and set off at once at the
top of his speed, straight for his nearest burrow,
with the hound close behind him.
In a few seconds he was snugly ensconced in
the furthest corner, while the hound was at the
entrance, keeping up a continuous and deafening
baying.
Several minutes more the dog bayed and
scratched at the hole; then down the winding
burrow there came a new sound, the voice of a
man, and Bunny heard the dog called off. For a
few moments there was silence. Then came afaint
pattering of little feet, and then-oh, horrors! -
trotting about in the hole and ever coming nearer,
Bunny made out in the dim light the form of a
new and dreadful enemy a ferret. The hun-
ter had carried one in a bag in case his prey
should take to a hole. Now this little creature
was doing its part. Sniff, sniff, went the snake-
like little fury; nearer and nearer he came, till
Bunny could see the faint green glitter of his
wicked eyes. Then, suddenly, the ferret dis-
covered the crouching and terrified rabbit and
made a spring to seize him; but Bunny gave a
great bound past him and rushed toward the
entrance of the hole, determined to face any-
thing rather than fall into the power of his
merciless little foe. There was silence at the
entrance of the burrow, but it was a treacherous
silence, for the moment the rabbit reached the
opening, he was seized by the hunter, and in an
instant he was transferred, unhurt, to a stout
bag. Then for a time he heard nothing but
the tramping his captor made in going through
the woods.
A few hours later, the hunter brought the
rabbit alive to me, the writer of this story, and
proposed that we should let it go and shoot it
as it ran. But I would not hear of this, though
I agreed to let two little puppy hounds chase
the rabbit after I had sketched it.
Accordingly I made my drawing, and then
went out to an open field with the young dogs.

On being put down, poor Bunny at first
seemed dazed; but the sight of the dogs aroused
him, and away he went with the puppies run-
ning merrily after him. The rabbit was by far
the swiftest, and the little dogs were left behind,
though they continued to follow until at last
Bunny slipped through a high fence. Then the
dogs gave up the chase. And now the hunter
with me, seeing that the rabbit was making his
escape, gave a loud whistle. In a few minutes
his old hound came running up. At once
this dog took up the track of the rabbit, bay-
ing loudly, and again Bunny was running free
through, the woods with a hound in full cry
behind him;- but remembering how, on the
evening before, he had been caught, and had al-
most lost his life through giving way to terror, he
now set out with a stouter heart, determined to
keep above ground till the last, and never, if
possible, again run the risk of meeting the ferret,
his most detested enemy. And how he ran !
I could not follow, for night came on, and still
I heard the baying of the hound as he circled
about in the distant woods; but after two or
three hours the hound came back looking so
dejected that I knew the rabbit had outwitted
him.
Early next morning, therefore, I went to the
woods that I might learn from the tracks in the
snow how the dog had been baffled. The whole
history of the chase was clearly to be read in the

S............... ..... .
\i.l

///1' ...' ...... i.......
A'A

DIAGRAM OF THE RABBIT'S COURSE.
snow; and by following the diagram the reader
will at once see the clever trick played by the
rabbit. First, starting from A, he ran straight

[SEPT.

THE TRUE STORY OF A

toward B, K, C; then, hearing the hound, he
ran up a low ravine toward D; then, turning
back exactly on his track as far as E, he went
on in the direction of F, where again he
stopped and exactly retraced his steps to G;
turning off he again ran on his old track
from K to B, when he leaped to one side and
ran straight toward H; here he again turned
and ran back on his own track to I, where, again,

1890.]

7, ..i:
/. -p :

ANGEL AND IMP.

By WILLIAM H. HAYNE.

ONE is a little angel,-
An angel full of grace,-
For he makes almost beautiful
A homely, careworn face.
The other is an imp perverse
Who keeps an evil vow
To make as ugly as he can
The smoothest, whitest brow.

You know the angel and the imp,-
You know them both so well,
Their dictionary names it seems
Superfluous to tell!
And yet to make my riddle clear,
I 'm forced to write them down:
The angel is a smile, of course,
The little imp, a frown !

LITTLE GRAY RABBIT. 955
he leaped aside, and after running a few yards
nestled under a brush pile, J, and slept com-
fortably until next morning. What wonder that
such a puzzle of tracks set the old hound com-
pletely at fault, and what wonder that so cunning
a rabbit should make good his escape and con-
tinue to live happily and safely in that same
swamp, as to my knowledge he did for many
a long month.

' .''" ... .*'* .'*.
- . S ,' ,-

-" '$ '. ,' "- .: .-

,- ,. -,,

-" '" ', '- .- 2 .

-- '- 5I : "- -

A FAIR APPRAISAL.

BY TUDOR JENKS.

OH, I 'm weary of the stupid things that lazy
people say
Of the bothers and the hardships undergone on
moving-day.
Why, they 've nothing to consider but their fur-
niture and things,
Which are wrap-able in paper and are tie-able
in strings.
But we wizards and enchanters have a lot
that 's hard to bear,
And when our landlords raise the rent we 're
really in despair.
For the moving of magician's goods is not a
theme for jokes;
It 's a matter that perplexes us-the wisest of
all folks.
In the first place, to avoid the throngs who
come to see the show
Seclusion is essential, so there 's but one way
to go.
One's household must be convoyed through the
damp, unwholesome clouds,
And even then we 're stared at by appreciative
crowds.

No wizard worthy of the name would ride on
any steed
Less imposing than a dragon of the Japanesest
breed.
And though giants lug your china at the very
lowest rates,
They care not for such trifles as a dozen cups
or plates.
Then griffins always lag behind, the winged
horses stray,
And when reined in too sharply will try to
throw a fay.
While, if one meets a witches' train, there 's
sure to be a fuss,
For partisan retainers your merits will discuss.
So if men reckon three removes as equal to a
fire,
I claim that these magicians' moves should rank
a trifle higher.

I 've thought the matter over, and I find, for
pure vexation,
That each magical removal is just twice a
conflagration.

CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD.

BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.

CHAPTER XVI.

AT Crofield, the morning mail brought a letter
from Mary, telling of her election.
There was not so very much comment, but
Mrs. Ogden cried a little, and said:
"I feel as if we were beginning to lose the
children."
I must go to work," said the tall black-
smith after a time; but I don't feel like it. So
Mary's to teach, is she? She seems very young.
I wish I knew about Jack."
Meanwhile, poor Jack was half hopelessly
inquiring, of man after man, whether or not
another boy was wanted in his store. It was
only one long, flat, monotony of No, sir," and
at last he once more turned his weary footsteps
up-town, and hardly had he done so before he
waked up a little and stood still, and looked
around him.
"Hullo !" he exclaimed, "I never was here
before. This must be Chatham Square and the
Bowery. I 've read about them in the guide-
book. I can go home this way. It's not much
like Broadway."
So he thought, as he went along. And it did
not at all resemble Broadway. It seemed to
swarm with people; they appeared to be attend-
ing to their own business, and they were all be-
having very.well, so far as Jack could see.
Never saw such a jam," said Jack, as he
pushed into a small throng on a street corner,
trying to get through; but at the word "jam"
something came down upon the top of his hat
and forced it forward over his eyes.
Up went both of his hands, instinctively, and
at that moment each arm was at once caught
and held up for a second or two. It was all
done in a flash. Jack knew that some boister-
ous fellow had jammed his hat over his eyes,
and that others had hustled him a little; but he
had not been hurt, and he did not feel like quar-

reling, just then. He pushed along through the
throng, and was getting out to where the crowd
was thinner, when he suddenly felt a chill and
a weak feeling at his heart. He had thrust his
hand into his pocket.
"My pocket-book!" he said, faintly. It's
gone Where could I have lost it ? I have n't
taken it out anywhere. And there was more than
three dollars in it I 'd saved to pay for my room!"
He leaned heavily against a lamp-post for a
moment, and all the bright ideas he had ever
had about the city became very dim and far
away. He put up one hand before his eyes,
and at that moment his arm was firmly grasped.
"Here, boy! What 's the matter? "
He looked up, and saw a blue uniform and a
hand with a club in it, but he could not say a
word in reply.
"You seem all right. Are you sick?"
"I 've lost my pocket-book," said Jack.
"Every cent I had except some change."
"That 's bad," and the keen-eyed officer un-
derstood the matter at a glance, for he added:
You were caught in a crowd, and had your
pocket picked ? I can't do anything for you, my
boy.. It's gone, and that 's all there is of it.
Never push into crowds if you 've any money
about you. You 'd better go home now."
"Only sixty-five cents left," Jack said, as he
walked away, for this evening, and Saturday,
and Sunday, and for all next week, till I get
something to do and am paid for doing it "
He had eaten ten cents' worth of bread and
milk at noon; but he was a strong and healthy
boy and he was again hungry. Counting his
change made him hungrier, and he thought
longingly of the brilliant supper-room at the
Hotel Dantzic.
That won't do," he thought. "I must keep
away from Keifelheimer and his restaurant.
There, now, that 's something like."
It was a small stand, close by a dark-looking

CROWDED OUT 0' CROFIELD.

cellar way. Half was covered with apples,
candy, peanuts, bananas, oranges, and cocoa-
nuts. The other half was a pay-counter, a
newspaper stand, and an eating-house. Jack's
interest centered on a basket, marked, "Ham
Sanwiges Five Cents."
I can afford a sandwich," he said, "and
I 'Ve got to eat something!"
At the moment when he leaned over and
picked up a sandwich, a small old woman, be-
hind the counter, reached out a hand toward
him; and another small old woman stretched
her hand out to a boy who was testing the
oranges; and a third small old woman sang
out very shrilly:
Here 's your sanwiges Ham san-
wiges! Only five cents! Benannies! Oranges!
Sanwiges !"
Jack put five cents into the woman's hand,
and he was surprised to find how much good
bread and boiled ham he had bought.
"It's all the supper I 'll have," he said, as he
walked away. I could eat a loaf of bread and
a whole ham, it seems to me "
All the way to the Hotel Dantzic he studied
over the loss of his pocket-book.
The policeman was right," he said to him-
self, at last. I did n't know when they took
it, but it must have been when my hat was
jammed down."
When Jack met Mr. Keifelheimer in the hotel
office, he asked him what he thought about it.
An expression of strong indignation, if not of
horror, crossed the face of the hotel proprietor.
Dey get you pocket-book ?" he exclaimed.
"You vas rob choost de same vay I vas; but
mine vas a votch und shain. It vas two year
ago, und I nefer get him back. Your friend,
Mr. Guilderaufenberg, he vas rob dot vay,
vonce, but den he vas ashleep in a railvay car
und not know ven it vas done! "
Jack was glad of so much sympathy, but just
then business called Mr. Keifelheimer away.
I won't go upstairs," thought Jack. I '11
sit in the reading-room."
No letters were awaiting him, but there were
plenty of newspapers, and nearly a score of men
were reading or talking. Jack did not really
care to read, nor to talk, nor even to listen; but
two gentlemen near him were discussing a sub-

ject that reminded him of the farms around
Crofield.
Yes," he heard one of them say, "we must
buy every potato we can secure. At the rate
they 're spoiling now, the price will be doubled
before December."
Curious, how little the market knows about
it yet," said the other, and they continued dis-
cussing letters and reports about potatoes, from
place after place, and State after State, and all
the while Jack listened, glad to be reminded of
Crofield.
It was just so with our potatoes at home,"
he said to himself. "Some farmers did n't get
back what they planted."
This talk helped him to forget his pocket-book
for a while; then, after trying to read the news-
papers, he went to bed.
A very tired boy can always sleep. Jack
Ogden awoke, on Saturday morning, with a
clear idea that sleep was all he had had for
supper,-excepting one ham sandwich.
It's not enough," he said, as he dressed him-
self. "I must make some money. Oh, my
pocket-book! And I shall have to pay for my
room, Monday."
He slipped out of the Hotel Dantzic very
quietly, and he had a fine sunshiny walk of two
and a half miles to the down-town restaurant
where he ate his ten cents' worth of bread and
milk.
"It 's enough for a while," he said, "but it
does n't last. If I was at home, now, I 'd have
more bread and another bowl of milk. I '11
come here again, at noon, if I don't find a place
somewhere."
Blue, blue, blue, was that Saturday for poor
Jack Ogden! All the forenoon he stood up
manfully to hear the No, we don't want a
boy," and he met that same answer, expressed
in almost identical words, everywhere.
When.he came out from his luncheon of bread
and milk, he began to find that many places
closed at twelve or one o'clock; that even more
were to close at three, and that on Saturday
all men were either tired and cross or in a hurry.
Jack's courage failed him until he could hardly
look a man in the face and ask him a question.

One whole week had gone since Jack reached
the city, and it seemed about a year. Here he

958

[SEPT.

CROWDED OUT 0' CROFIELD.

was, without any way for making money, and
almost without a hope of finding anyway.
I '11 go to the hotel," he said, at about four
o'clock. I '11 go up the Bowery way. It won't
pay anybody to pick my pocket this time "

I 'VE LOST MY POCKET-BOOK,' SAID JACK, 'EVERY CENT I HA
(SEE PAGE 957.)
He had a reason for going up the Bowery.
It was no shorter than the other way. The real
explanation was in his pocket.
"Forty cents left! he said. "I '11 eat one
sandwich for supper, and I '11 buy three more
to eat in my room to-morrow."
He reached the stand kept by the three small
old women, and found each in turn calling out,
" Here you are! Sanwiges !- and all the rest
of their list of commodities.

Four," said Jack. "Put up three of 'em
in a paper, please. I '11 eat one."
It was good. In fact, it was too good, and Jack
wished it was ten times as large; but the last mor-
sel of it vanished speedily and after looking with
longing eyes at the others,
he shut his teeth firmly.
"I won't eat another "
he said to himself. I 'll
starve it out till Monday,
anyway "
It took all the courage
Jack had to carry those
three sandwiches to the
Hotel Dantzic and to put
them away, untouched, in
his traveling-bag. After
a while, he. went down
to the reading-room and
read; but he went to bed
thinking of the excellent
Meals he had eaten at the
Albany hotel on his way
to New York.

Mary Ogden's second
1 Sunday in Mertonville was
Sa peculiar trial to her, for
several young ladies who
expected to be in the
Academy next term, came
and added themselves to
that remarkable Sunday-
school class. So did some
friends of the younger
Academy girls; and the
class had to be divided,
to the disappointment of
Those excluded.
D EXCEPT SOME CHANGE. t
Mary Ogden did n't
need to improve," said Elder Holloway to the
Superintendent, "but she is doing better than
ever! "
How Jack did long to see Mary, or some of
the family in Crofield, and Crofield itself! As
soon as he was dressed he opened the bag
and took out one of his sandwiches and looked
at it.
Why, they 're smaller than I thought they
were! he said ruefully; "but I can't expect

[SEPT.

CROWDED OUT 0' CROFIELD.

too much for five cents! I 've just twenty cents
left. That sandwich tastes good if it is small "
So soon was it all gone that Jack found his
breakfast very unsatisfactory.
I don't feel like going to church," he said,
"but I might as well. I can't sit cooped up
here all day. I '11 go into the first church I
come to, as soon as it 's time."
He did not care where he went when he
left the hotel, and perhaps it did not really
make much difference, considering how, he
felt; but he found a church and went in. A
young man showed him to a seat under the
gallery. Not until the minister in the pulpit
came forward to give out a hymn, did Jack no-
tice anything peculiar, but the first sonorous,
rolling cadences of that hymn startled the boy
from Crofield.

JACK DINES WITH MR. KEIFELHEIMER. (SE

"Whew !" he said to himself. It 's Dutch,
or something. I can't understand a word of it!
I '11 stay, though, now I 'm here."
German hymns, and German prayers, and a
tolerably long sermon in German, left Jack Og-
den free to think of all sorts of things, and his
spirits went down, down, down, as he recalled
all the famines of which he had heard or read
and all the delicacies invented to tempt the

appetite. He sat very still, however, until the
last hymn was sung, and then he walked slowly
back to the Hotel Dantzic.
"I don't care to see Mr. Keifelheimer," he
thought. "He '11 ask me to come in and eat a
big Sunday dinner,- and to pay for it. I '11
dodge him."
He watched at the front door of the hotel for
fully three minutes, until he was sure that the
hall was empty. Then he slipped into the read-
ing-room and through that into the rear passage-
way leading to the elevator; but he did not
feel safe until on his way to his room.
One sandwich for dinner," he groaned, as
he opened his bag. I never knew what real
hunger was till I came to the city! Maybe it
won't last long, though. I 'm not the first fellow
who's had a hard time before he made a start."
Jack thought that
both the bread and
the ham were cut
toothin,and thatthe
;' Sandwich did not
last long enough.
.. I '11 keep my
i "' 'Ii last twenty cents,
S 1 though," thought
S' Jack, and he tried
S. ..- to be satisfied.
S Before that after-
.. noon was over, the
'i guide-book had
been again read
through, and a long
S'home letter was
written.
"I 'll mail it," he
said, as soon as I
get some money for
stamps. I have n't
EE PAGE 96S.) said a word to them
about famine. It must be time to eat that third
sandwich; and then I '11 go out and take a
walk."
The sandwich was somewhat dry, but every
crumb of it seemed to be valuable. After eat-
ing it, Jack once more walked over and looked
at the fine houses on Fifth Avenue; but now it
seemed to the hungry lad an utter absurdity to
think of ever owning one of them. He stared

960

CROWDED OUT 0' CROFIELD.

and wondered and walked, however, and re-
turned to the hotel tired out.

On Monday morning, the Ogden family were
at breakfast, when a neat-looking farm-wagon
stopped before the door. The driver sprang to
the ground, carefully helped.out a young woman,
and then lifted down a trunk. Just as the trunk
came down upon the ground there was a loud
cry in the open doorway.
Mother! Molly 's come home! and out
sprang little Bob.
Mercy on us! Mrs. Ogden exclaimed, and
the whole family were on their feet.
Mary met her father as she was coming in.
Then, picking up little Sally and kissing her,
she said:
"There was a way for me to come over,
this morning. I 've brought my books home,
to study till term begins. Oh, mother, I 'm so
glad to get back "
The blacksmith went out to thank the farmer
who had brought her; but the rest went into
the house to get Mary some breakfast and to
look at her and to hear her story.
Mrs. Ogden said several times:
"I do wish Jack was here, too! "
That very moment her son was leaving the
Hotel Dantzic behind him, with two and a half
miles to walk before getting his breakfast a
bowl of bread and milk.

CHAPTER XVII.

JACK OGDEN, that Monday morning, had an
idea that New York was a very long city.
He had eaten nothing since Saturday noon,
excepting the sandwiches, and he felt that he
should not be good for much until after he had
had breakfast. His mind was full of unpleas-
ant memories of the stores and offices he had
entered during his last week's hunt, and he did
not relish renewing it.
"I must go ahead, though," he thought.
"Something must be done, or I '11 starve."
Every moment Jack felt better, and he arose
from the table a little more like himself.
Ten cents left," he said, as he went out into
the street. "That '11 buy me one more bowl
of bread and milk. What shall I do then ?"
VOL. XVII.- 118.

It was a serious question, and demanded at-
tention. It was still very early for the city, but
stores were beginning to open, and groups of
men were hurrying along the sidewalks on their
way to business. Jack went on, thinking and
thinking, and a fit of depression was upon him

" 1 K/H-, --

1I/
1 /I

'F

-- '' i I : ',

_ __ i,,'"i, t1 1
I / I~l ;''l"llS t
l, :" '. ,,,, ,' ,/,i

"'TEN CENTS LEFT,' HE SAID, AS HE WENT OUT INTO THE
STREET."

when he entered a street turning out from
Broadway. He had not tried this street before.
It was not wide, and it was beginning to look
busy. At the end of two blocks, Jack uttered
an exclamation:
"That 's queer!" he said. "They all sell
coffee, tea, groceries, and that sort of thing.
Big stores, too. I '11 try here."
His heart sank a little, as he paused in front
of a very bustling establishment, bearing every
appearance of prosperity. Some men were
bringing out tea-chests and bags of coffee to
pile around the doorway, as if to ask passers-
by to walk in and buy some. The show-win-
dows were already filled with samples of sugar,
coffee, and a dozen other kinds of goods. Just
beyond one window Jack could see the first of
a row of three huge coffee-grinders painted red,

I f .

961

CROWDED OUT O CROFIELD.

and back of the other window was more ma-
chinery.
"I '11 go in, anyway," he said, setting his
teeth. Only ten cents left!"
That small coin, because it was all alone in
his pocket, drove him into the door. Two-
thirds down the broad store there stood a black-
eyed, wiry, busy-looking man, giving various
directions to the clerks and other men. Jack
thought, He 's the' boss.' He looks as if he'd
say no, right away."
Although Jack's heart was beating fast, he
walked boldly up to this man:
Mister," he said, do you want to hire an-
other boy ? "
You are the hundred and eleventh boy who
has asked that same question within a week.
No," responded the black-eyed man, sharply
but good-naturedly.
Gifford," came at that moment from a very
cheerful voice over Jack's left shoulder, "I 've
cleaned out that lot of potatoes. Sold two
thousand barrels on my way down, at a dollar
and a half a barrel."
Jack remembered that some uncommonly
heavy footsteps had followed him when he
came in, and found that he had to look upward
to see the face of the speaker, who was unusually
tall. The man leaned forward, too, so that Jack's
face was almost under his.
Mr. Gifford's answer had disappointed Jack
and irritated him.
You did well!" said Mr. Gifford.
Before he had time to think Jack said:
A dollar and a half? Well, if you knew any-
thing about potatoes, you would n't have let
them go for any dollar and a half a barrel!"
What do you know about potatoes? growl-
ed the tall man, leaning an inch lower and frown-
ing at Jack's interruption.
"More than you or Mr. Gifford seem to,"
said Jack desperately. "The crop's going to
be short. I know how it is up our way."
"Tell us what you know!" said the tall man,
sharply; and Mr. Gifford drew nearer with an
expression of keen interest upon his face.
"They 're all poor," said Jack, and then he
remembered and repeated, better than he could
have done if he had made ready beforehand,
all he had heard the two men say in the Hotel

Dantzic reading-room, and all he had heard in
Crofield and Mertonville. He had heard the
two men call each other by name, and he ended
with:
"Did n't you sell your lot to Murphy &
Scales? They 're buying everywhere."
That 's just what I did," said the tall man.
"I wish I had n't; I '11 go right out and buy! "
and away he went.
"Buy some on my account," said Mr. Gif-
ford, as the other man left the store. See here,
my boy, I don't want to hire anybody. But
you seem to know about potatoes. Probably
you 're just from a farm. What else do you
know? What can you do?"
"A good many things," said Jack, and to his
own astonishment he spoke out clearly and con-
fidently.
"Oh, you can ?" laughed Mr. Gifford.
"Well, I don't need you, but I need an en-
gineer. I wish you knew enough to run a small
steam-engine."
"Why, I can run a steam-engine," said Jack,
"That 's nothing. May I see it ?"
Mr. Gifford pointed at some machinery be-
hind the counter, near where he stood, and at
the apparatus in the show-window.
It 's a little one that runs the coffee-mills
and the printing-press," he said. "You can't
do anything with it until a machinist mends it -
it 's all out of order, I 'm told."
Perhaps I can," said Jack. A boy who 's
learned the blacksmith's trade ought to be able
to put it to rights."
Without another word, Jack went to work.
Nothing wrong here, Mr. Gifford," he said
in a minute. "Where are the screw-driver and
the monkey-wrench, and an oil-can ? "
"Well, well!" exclaimed Mr. Gifford, as he
sent a man for the tools. Do you think you
can do it ? "
Jack said nothing aloud, but he told himself:
Why, it 's a smaller size but like the one in
the Eagle office. They get out of order easily,
but then it 's easy to regulate them."
"You do know something," said Mr. Gifford,
laughing, a few minutes later, when Jack said to
him:
"She '11 do now."
She won't do very well," added Mr. Gifford,

[SEPT.

962

CROWDED OUT O' CROFIELD.

shaking his head. "That engine never was
exactly the thing. It lacks power."
It may be the pulley-belt 's too loose," said
Jack, after studying the mechanism for a mo-
ment.
I '11 send for a man to fix it, then."
"No, you need n't," said Jack. "I can
tighten it so she '11 run all the machinery you
have. May I have an awl ? "
"Of course," said Mr. Gifford. Put it to
rights. There 's plenty of coffee waiting to be
ground."
Jack went to work at the loose belt.
He 's a bright fellow," said Mr. Gifford to
his head-clerk. If we wanted another boy -
but we don't."
Too many now," was the short, decisive
reply.
It was not long before the machinery began
to move.
Good said Mr. Gifford. I almost wish
I had something more for you to do, but I really
have n't. If you could run that good-for-noth-
ing old printing-press -"
"Printing-press ? exclaimed Jack.
Over in the other window," said Mr. Gif-
ford. "We thought of printing all our own
circulars, cards, and paper bags. But it 's a
failure, unless we should hire a regular printer.
We shall have to, I suppose. If you were a
printer, now."
I've worked at the press," said Jack. I 'm
something of a printer. I 'm sure I can do
that work. It 's like a press I used to run when
I worked in that business."
Jack at once went to the show-window.
"An Alligator' press," he said, "like the
one in the Standard office. It ought to be
oiled, though. It needs adjusting, too. No
wonder it would not work. I can make it go."
The business of the store was beginning.
Steam was up in the engine, and the coffee-mills
were grinding merrily. Mr. Gifford and all his
clerks were busied with other matters, and Jack
was left to tinker away at the Alligator press.
"She 's ready to run. I 'll start her," he said
at last.
He took an impression of the form of type
that was in the press and read it.
"I see," he said. They print that on their

paper bags for an advertisement. I '11 show
it to Mr. Gifford. There are plenty of blank
ones lying around here, all ready to print."
He walked up to the desk and handed in the
proof, asking:
"Is that all right ?"
No," said Mr. Gifford. We let our stock
of bags run down because the name of the firm
was changed. I want to add several things.
I '11 send for somebody to have the proof correc-
tions made."
"You need n't," said Jack. "Tell me what
you want. Any boy who 's ever worked in a
newspaper office can do a little thing like that."
How do you come to know so much about
machinery ? asked Mr. Gifford, trying not to
laugh.
Oh," said Jack, I was brought up a black-
smith, but I 've worked at other trades, and it
was easy enough to adjust those things."
"That's what you 've been up to, is it ?"
said Mr. Gifford. I saw you hammering and
filing, and I wondered what you 'd accom-
plished. I want the new paper bags to be,"-
and he told Jack what changes were required,
and added: "Then, of course, I shall need some
circulars- three kinds -and some cards.'
That press will run over a thousand an hour
when it 's geared right. You '11 see," said Jack,
positively.
"Well, here 's a true Jack-at-all-trades! ex-
claimed Mr. Gifford, opening his eyes. I
begin to wish we had a place for you!"
It'was nearly noon before Jack had another
sample of printing ready to show. There was
a good supply of type, to be sure, but he was
not much of a printer, and type-setting did not
come easily to him. He worked almost desper-
ately, however, and meanwhile his brains were
as busy as the coffee-mills. He succeeded finally,
and it was time, for a salesman was just report-
ing:
Mr. Gifford, we 're out of paper bags."
"We must have some right away," said Mr.
Gifford. "I wish that youngster really knew
how to print them. He 's tinkering at it over
there."
Is that right ? asked Jack only a second
later, holding out a printed bag.
Why, yes, that's the thing. Go ahead," said

CROWDED OUT 0' CROFIELD.

the surprised coffee-dealer. I thought you 'd
failed this time."
-" '11 run off a lot," said Jack, and then I '11
-go out and get something to eat."
No, you won't," said Mr. Gifford promptly.
No going out, during business hours, in this
house. I '11 have a luncheon brought to you.
I '11 try you to-day, anyhow."
Back went Jack without another word, but he
thought silently, That saves me ten cents."
The Alligator press was started, and Jack fed
it with the blank paper bags the salesmen needed,
and he began to feel happy. He was even hap-
pier when his luncheon was brought; for the
firm of Gifford & Company saw that their
employees fared well.
I declare said Jack to himself, "it 's the
first full meal I 've had since last week Wednes-
day! I was starved."
On went the press, and the young pressman
sat doggedly at his task; but he was all the
while watching things in the store and hearing
whatever there was to hear.
I know their prices pretty well," he thought.
"Most of the things are marked -ever so
much lower than Crofield prices, too."
He had piles of printed bags of different sizes
ready for use, now lying around him.
"Time to get at some of those circulars," he
was saying, as he arose from his seat at the
press and stepped out behind the counter.
Five pounds of coffee," said a lady, before
the counter, in a tone of vexation. I 've waited
long enough. Mocha and Java, mixed."
"Thirty-five cents," said Jack.
Quick, then," said she, and he darted away
to fill her order.
Three and a half pounds of powdered sugar,"
said another lady, as he passed her.
"Yes, ma'am," said Jack.
ow much is this soap ? asked a stout old
woman, and Jack remembered that price too.
He was not at all aware that anybody was
watching him; but he was just telling another
customer about tea and baking-soda when he
felt a hand upon his shoulder.
See here," demanded Mr. Gifford, what
are you doing behind the counter ? "
"I was afraid they 'd get tired of waiting
and go somewhere else," said Jack. I know

something about waiting on customers. Yes,
ma'am, that 's a fine tea. Forty-eight cents.
Half a pound? Yes, ma'am. In a jiffy, Mr.
Gifford;- there are bags enough for to-day."
"I think you may stay," said the head of
the house. ." I did n't need another boy; but
I begin to think I do need a blacksmith, a
carpenter, a printer, and a good, sharp sales-
man." As he was turning away he added,
" It 's surprising how quickly he has picked up
our prices."
Jack's fingers were trembling nervously, but
his face brightened as he did up that package.
Mr. Gifford waited while the Crofield boy
answered yet another customer and sold some
coffee, and told Jack to go right on.
Come to the desk," he then said. I don't
even know your name. Come."
Very hot and yet a little shaky was Jack as he
followed; but Mr. Gifford was not a verboseman.
Mr. Jones," he said to the head clerk, "please
take down his name; what is it ? "
"John Ogden, sir," and after other questions
and answers, Mr. Gifford said:
Find a cheaper boarding-place. You can
get good board for five dollars a week. Your
pay is only ten dollars a week to begin, and you
must live on that. We '11 see that you earn it,
too. You can begin printing circulars and cards."
Jack went, and Mr. Gifford added:
"Why, Mr. Jones, he 's saved sending for
three different workmen since he came in.
He '11 make a good salesman, too. He's a
boy-but he is n't only a boy. I '11 keep him."
Jack went to the press as if in a dream.
"A place!" he said to himself. "Well, yes;
I 've got a place. Good wages, too; but I sup-
pose they won't pay until Saturday night. How
am I to keep going until then? I have to
pay my bill at the Hotel Dantzic, too--now
I 've begun on a new week. I '11 go without
my supper, and buy a sandwich in the morning,
and then- I '11 get along, somehow."
He worked all that afternoon with an uneasy
feeling that he was being watched. The paper
bags were finished, a fair supply of them; and
then the type for the circular needed only a few
changes, and he began on that. Each new job
made him remember things he had learned in
the Standard office, or had gathered from Mr.

964

CROWDED OUT 0' CROFIELD.

Black, the wooden foreman of the Eagle. It
was just as well, however, that things needed
only fixing up and not setting anew, for that
might have been a little beyond him. As it
was, he overcame all difficulties, besides leaving
the press three times to act as salesman.
Gifford & Co. kept open to accommodate cus-
tomers who purchased goods on their way home;
and it was after nearly all other business houses,
excepting such as theirs, were closed, that the
very tall man-leaned in at the door and then
came striding down the store to the desk.
"Gifford," he said, that clerk of yours was
right. There 's almost a panic in potatoes. I
got five thousand barrels for you, and five thou-
sand for myself, at a dollar and sixty, and the
price just jumped. They will bring two dollars.
If they do we '11 make two thousand apiece.
"I 'm glad you did so well," said Mr. Gifford
dryly, "but don't say much to him about it. Let
him alone "
"Well, yes; but I want to do something
for him. Give him this ten-dollar bill from me."
"Very well," said Mr. Gifford; "you owe the
profit to him. I '11 take care of my side of the
matter. Ogden, come here a moment!"
Jack stopped the press and came to the desk.
The money was handed to him.
It 's just a bit of luck," said the tall man;
"but your information was valuable to me."
"Thank you," said Jack, after he had in vain
refused the money.
"You 've done enough," said Mr. Gifford;
"this will do for your first day. Eight o'clock
in the morning, remember. Good-night! "
"I 'm glad I belong here," Jack said to him-
self. If I 'd had my pick of the city I would
have chosen this very store. Ten dollars! I
can pay Mr. Keifelheimer now, and I sha'n't
have to starve to death!"
Jack felt so prosperous that he walked only to
the nearest station of the elevated railway, and
cheerfully paid five cents for a ride up-town.
When the Hotel Dantzic was reached, it
seemed a much more cheerful and home-like
building than it had appeared when he left it
in the morning; and Jack had now no notion

of dodging Mr. Keifelheimer. There he stood
on the doorstep, looking stern and dignified.
He was almost too polite when Jack said:
"Good-evening, Mr. Keifelheimer."
Goot-efening," he replied, with a bow. "I
hope you gets along vell mit your beezness ?"
"Pretty well," said Jack, cheerfully.
"Vere vas you feexed ?" asked Mr. Keifel-
heimer, doubtfully.
Jack held out one of the business cards of
Gifford & Company, and replied:
"That 's where I am. I guess I '11 pay for
my room here till the end of this week, and then
I '11 find a place further down town."
"I vas so sorry dey peek your pockit," said
Mr. Keifelheimer, looking at the card. "Tell
you vat, Mr. Ogden, you take supper mit me.
It cost you nothing. I haf to talk some mit you."
"All right," said Jack. "I '11 pay up at the
desk, and then I '11 get ready for dinner."
When he came down Mr. Keifelheimer was
waiting for him, very smiling, but not nearly
so polite and dignified. Hardly were they
seated at the supper-table before the proprietor
coughed twice affectedly, and then remarked:
"You not leaf de Hotel Dantzic, Mr. Ogden.
I use up pounds and boxes of tea und sugar
und coffee, und all dose sometings dey sell at
Gufford und Gompany's. You get me de best
prices mit dem, und you safe me a great heap
of money. I get schwindled, schwindled, all
de times! You vas keep your room, und you
pays for vat you eats. De room is a goot
room, but it shall cost you not vun cent. So ?
If I find you safe me money, I go on mit you."
"I '11 do my best," said Jack. "Let me
know what you 're paying now."
"Ve go all ofer de leest after ve eat some-
ting," said Mr. Keifelheimer. "Mr. Guilder-
aufenberg say goot deal about you. So did de
ladies. I vas sorry dot dey peek your pocket."
Probably he had now forgotten just what he
had thought of saying to Jack in case the boy
had not been able to pay for his room, and
had been out of employment; but Jack was
enjoying a fine illustration of that wise proverb
which says: "Nothing succeeds like success."

(To be continued )

1890.1

A LITTLE CONTRABAND.

By CHARLES MCILVAINE.

N 1862, my company
stacked their guns one
bright May evening,
i unslung their knap-
sacks, unbuckled their
cartridge-belts, donned
their fatigue uniforms,
and, with the method of well-trained soldiers,
proceeded to erect a little village of tents beside
a beautiful artificial lake made by capturing the
tide at its flood, as it poured from the Edisto
River up a narrow sluiceway into the extensive
and beautiful grounds surrounding the Seabrook
mansion. The mocking-birds were in full tune
among the trees, and trolling their songs from
the great magnolias. Lonely palms stood stark
in the glare of sunset by the side of symmetri-
cal live-oaks and cone-shaped pines resting like
enormous hay-cocks on the rim of the horizon.
The gables, towers, and chimneys of the mansion
rose above the mat of trees and shadow, to catch
the richness of sunset tints and reflect their fire
from many a dazzling dormer. Barns, cotton
houses, slave-quarters, together with the multi-
tudinous out-buildings of a Southern plantation,
stood on the river bank overlooking its wide
waters.
Bird-song, the hum of busy men, the thud of
blows driving tent-pins, the stamping of horses as
they stood in the wagon-train, the sharp, incisive
orders of subaltern officers, as men moved and
tents rose at their commands, were the only
sounds. War had rested its palsying hand on
lovely Edisto, silencing the low of herds, the
happy laugh of negroes, and the joy of yonder
fair and stately mansion. Everything was de-
serted -fields, quarters, homestead.
Lashing out of the forest line and galloping
across a vast plain, with cotton rows disturbing
its level like ripples on a sea of sand, rode a
glittering group of officers with a train of

mounted orderlies- Brigadier-General H. G.
Wright and his staff. On they came, waving a
passing salute to the officers of my detachment,
and clattered up the broad shell-avenue to Sea-
brook house, there to establish brigade head-
quarters in its vacant halls.
The men of my company worked with a will
at their canvas homes. Their hearts were light
and proud that day for had they not at grand
review caught the general's eye, and by their
step and keeping won his favor and the privi-
lege of being his guard at his headquarters ?
While watching the erection of my own tent,
under the generous shade of a live-oak tree, I
heard a shrill, childish yell, and then the shouts
of the men. Turning, I saw a sight that was
too much for the gravity of even a commanding
officer. Down the street-newly walled off
by the canvas houses -came a little darky at
lightning speed. His bare black legs shone
like the spokes of a rapidly revolving carriage-
wheel, as they spun over the ground; his head
was thrown back; his eyes stuck out until the
white rings around their pupils made each look
like the bull's-eye of a target; his capacious
mouth was open for vociferous yelling, and the
fragmentary shirt he wore was extended as far
behind him as its scanty material could reach.
It did not take an observant eye to see that
that jet-black youngster was likely to lose his
color from fright.- And no wonder; for behind
him was a long-legged corporal holding a bay-
oneted musket within reaching distance of his
flying calico.
The explanation of this strange chase was not
at first evident. While Corporal Russel was the
jolliest of fellows in camp, and always ready for
trick or joke, there was now in his gait and face
a savage determination to catch that darky or
run him beyond the department limits. As the
youngster, came closer the mystery was solved.

A LITTLE CONTRABAND.

In one hand he held a chunk of bacon, and in
the other a hardtack. The little rascal had
been caught stealing from the corporal's haver-
sack.
Well knowing that the corporal would not hurt
him,- for he was kindness itself the whole length
of his queer, gaunt form,- the comicality of the
race struck me. Naturally taking part with the
weaker, I joined in the shouting with, Go it,
Sambo! You are beating him! Hold on to the
bacon! "
I think this last expression of encouragement
decided the little fellow, for he gave one wild,
supplicating look at me, changed his course sud-
denly, and circled to the protection of my legs.
There he clung, in terrified entreaty, much to the
detriment of my uniform from his handful of
grease.
Don' you let 'im kill-er me, mas'r! Don'
you let 'im kill-er me! I did n't take 'em! I '11
gib um back right away! I 's so hungry. Don'
you let 'im kill-er me "
The little fellow's cry, "I 's so hungry,"
touched me.. I have been hungry myself, and
experience makes us wonderfully charitable.
While the breathless corporal halted, shouldered
his musket, and stood at attention before me,
the perfect picture of a soldier, I did what I
could to console the waif through a long and
tearful outburst, which finally came to an abrupt
conclusion from his choking on a piece of
cracker that he had tried to swallow between
his sobs.
"He is hungry, Corporal-nearly starved.
He must have been left behind when the people
left here, and has had nothing to eat since."
In an instant Corporal Russel's face changed
from embarrassment, at being so ludicrously
caught, to anxious sympathy.
Let me have him, Captain. He shall have
all I 've got."
A yell from the little fellow, and a renewed
grasp of his greasy fingers, admonished me that,
however willing the corporal might be to feed
him, I was regarded by the stray as his defender
and adopted protector. Nor would he take his
baconed grasp from my trousers until I had
promised him that the corporal should not have
him.
From that moment he believed that I had

saved his life, and never afterward, on weary
march, on dangerous picket, or in the heat of
deadly fray, did he swerve from the fidelity born
of his gratitude.
Soon the tents were pitched, the camp-fires
were lighted, groups sat in their red glare, or
lolled where the rippled lake put ruffles around
the moon's reflected face (a silvery night-cap
most becoming) until taps "darkened the camp,
and no sound but the bittern's cry and meas-
ured tread of sentinels disturbed the silence of
the night. In a corner of my tent, well fed and
sound asleep, lay little Nigger June."
He had told me his name and his story in
his own quaint way. When the Federal gun-
boats steamed up the Edisto River, the ignorant
and terrified slaves fled to hiding-places in the
swamp-forests or followed their masters from
the island to the mainland; and June, whose
whole family tree, so far as he knew, consisted
of the one guardian he had ever had (his old
Aunt Peggy "), was, owing to the shortness of
his legs and a chronic habit of going to sleep
under all possible circumstances, left behind.
Hunger was too much for his honesty; so, like
a dog after a bone, he had sneaked into the
camp and was spied by the keen-eyed corporal
foraging on the provisions. He took to his new
surroundings as naturally as if he had been born
by a camp-fire and cradled in a drum. Like a
cat left behind in a deserted home, he became
a legacy to the new-comers, and he was petted
and cared for accordingly.
Tb say anything without an enforcing emphasis,
or to expect to be believed without reference to
some authority of higher value than his own,
was foreign to June's idea of impressive English.
His lingo was that of the Carolina Sea Islands,
but his laugh was cosmopolitan there was no
limit to its shades and changes. It embodied
the diapason of jollity, was ready at the slight-
est provocation, and was as infectious as sneezes
from snuff. His dancing incorporated every
caper that ever was cut; his full, rich, contralto
voice rang out the complete weird song-lore of
his race. It was not long before he became
known throughout the whole Tenth Army Corps.
No picnic, coon-hunt, fishing-party, nor camp
game in which the men indulged was complete
without him.

967

A LITTLE CONTRABAND.

He was in constant demand from all parts
of the command because of the amusement he
afforded, and in consequence was generally
"lent out" to some one. Unlike other loans,
he never failed to return. Diving for quarters
in a tub of meal was his specialty. He could
keep his "bullet" head under longer than any
other darky in the Department of the South,-
never failing to capture the silver in his teeth and
be up in time to have a laugh at his rooting, strug-
gling competitors. Butting was a favorite pas-
time. With head down, shoulders up, prancing
on one leg, he would issue challenge to man or
boy to do battle with him, and he always scored
a victory.
An immense negro, named Orchard, used to
come daily into camp with a tub on his head
containing shrimps, which found ready sale
among the soldiers. June had repeatedly danced
his war-dance around Orchard without obtain-
ing even recognition as an enemy.
One day, after an unsuccessful challenge, he
came to me disgusted and full of contempt.
"See um dar, Cappin, see um, dat big niggah.
Him too proud. Woffer him not butt me?
Woffer him not go down on his knees an' butt
me? 'Deed, I knock 'm shoo."
Being in full sympathy with my butting phe-
nomenon, and having been his backer on many
occasions, I said, "June, I will give you a quar-
ter if you make Orchard drop that tub of
shrimps."
After he had taken a roll, turned two or three
somersaults, and done some dancing, to work
his elation out properly, he replied:
Mas'r, dat quartah's mine. Dat tub mighty
high up. Long way up to dat tub, Mas'r Cap-
pin. Orchard hab to git from un'er him." He
dashed off in high glee, and was soon stalking
beside the black shrimp merchant, with an
empty cracker-box balanced on his head, imi-
tating his big modeling every action. Iwatched
his maneuvers with keen enjoyment,- it was a
contest between a pygmy and a giant. He
soon attracted Orchard's attention, and the
shrimp dealer came to a sudden and dignified
halt.
"What you doin' dat fo', you grinnin' mon-
key? What you make mock ob me fo' ?"
asked Orchard, angrily.

"Put down you' tub, an' butt me den," was
the little fellow's reply. "Ain't I ax you, ebry
day, fo' to butt me? Put down you' tub."
Thus "daring" him, June laid his cracker-box
upside down, a few feet in front of the irate
Orchard, and backed off as if preparing for an
acceptance of his challenge.
"Go 'way, chile. If I butt you, I kill you,
shoo. What fo' I go buttin' sich a pickaninny
like you, fo' ? "
"Put down dat tub! was all the answer he
had from June, who was posturing like a goat
full of fight.
Go 'way, you sassy niggah! What fo' I put
down de tub fo' de likes ob you ? "
The halt and parley were what the little
strategist was after. Quick as a flash he charged
like a ram, leaped from the cracker-box, shot
forward as from a catapult, and landed his head
with the force of a solid shot fair on Orchard's
waistband! If Orchard had been hinged in the
middle he could not have doubled up more
quickly. Down came the tub, the shrimps flew
in all directions, and before the astonished giant
comprehended what had happened, June was
shrieking his delight and celebrating his victory
behind a group of soldiers who were cheering
his exploit.
The promised quarter was paid to June, and
Orchard was compensated for his shrimps; but
it was many a day before he forgave dat grin-
nin', buttin', sassy brack monkey."
June was always the hero of his adventures,
but he was not always heroic. A few days after
his appearance in camp, he was despatched to
fetch some water from a spring under the pro-
tecting shade of leaning live-oak some distance
away, across the plain of cotton rows. In order
that he might not have to go soon again, he
determined to carry "a lazy man's load." There-
fore he put a mackerel-kit on his head, took a
bucket in each hand, and away he went -a
walking reservoir. Pretty soon he came bound-
ing across the field, bouncing from the cotton-
rows like a ricochet shot, yelling at the top of his
voice, De Debble, de Debble, de Debble!"
As usual, when in trouble, he came straight to
me. All he could gasp was:
"Oh, de Debble, de Debble, de Debble!
Lawks-a-massy, Cappin, I see um de Debble!"

968

A LITTLE CONTRABAND.

Where ? I asked, as well as laughing would
let me.
In de watah. I stoop down to de watah
ober yonder by de spring, an' jus' ez I gwine
to scoop de watah in de bucket, dar wuz de
Debble dar, looking' right out de watah at me.
Oh, I 'm gwine to die! De Debble's gwine
to catch me, sho. Don't let um catch me,
Mas'r Cappin! He was terribly frightened -
trembling, and clinging to me piteously. He
had certainly seen something.
Don't be afraid, June," I said consolingly.

" You did not see any devil." He backed up his
positive assertion to the contrary with a favor-
ite expression. Fo' a troof, Cappin, I see urn.
Ain't I know 'im when I see um? Dar wuz his
two horns, an' eyes afire, an' mouf big enoughh
VOL. XVII.- -9.

fo' to swaller me right down kerplump,-ain't I
see um ? "
Nothing would convince him that he had
made a mistake,-and nothing ever did.
For a moment I was frightened, too, when I
went to the spring after the abandoned buckets,
and to see what was the matter: for, there in
the water was reflected a countenance of more
than Satanic ugliness. As it quickly disappeared,
a heavy thud on the ground just beside me
inclined me to follow in the footsteps of June
and to confess entire adoption of his belief.
An instant sufficed to
show me that the sup-
posed demon was a large
Angora goat, resting in
the broad crotch of the
leaning tree. The goat's
head and shoulders were
c 'vaguely mirrored in the
spring.
tJune was no manner
of use, so far as the per-
formance of any duty
S was concerned, but in
the camp he was a power
which would have been
Sadly missed. He was
the camp Jester. From
S, reveille to taps, his
\ Si iil merry pranks amused
S the men, his laugh kept
S all in good humor.
S He was circus, clown,
and side-show, com-
bined. He could climb
\ a tree, shake down a
S 'coon, and be back in time to be
S mixed with the pile of dogs and darkies
in at the death. He could run a rabbit
to earth, see a squirrel in its thickest hiding-
place, throw a stone unerringly, and out-ma-
nceuver any man in the company. His likes and
dislikes for the different men were strong, and
knew no compromise. Woe to the soldier
who excited June's ire! His shoes would be
missing, his haversack mysteriously filled with
sand, his blanket with nettles, his canteen with
salt-water from the lake, and his every peculiar-
ity would be pantomimed for the amusement of

969

A LITTLE CONTRABAND.

his comrades. He invariably appeared on dress-
parade in a unique uniform. A sardine-box
carried his cartridges, a bit of string answered
for belt, a forked stick for a gun. No man of
the company went through the parade exercises
better, and, if it pleased him to imitate the com-
manding officer a few
feet to the rear, the
quivering line
of muskets
and red faces
\ of the men
bore testi-
mony to the
exactness of
his mimicry.
He was
once caught

-,. .

JUNE BRINGS DOWN THE SHRIMPS. (SEE PAGE 9
tying a pair of wickedly clawed crabs into the
coat-sleeve of one of his tormentors. The wags
of the company decided to try him by court
martial. The charge was conduct prejudicial
to good order and military discipline." June
pleaded his own cause manfully. "What fo'
you sitting' on me fo'? Mar's Cappin an' Aunt

Peggy is my boss; an' Aunt Peggy ain't yere no
mo'. Le' me go. Woffer you sitting' on me ? "
Notwithstanding the force and logic of his de-
fense, he was ruthlessly sentenced to a term of
imprisonment within the walls of an empty and
headless pork-barrel. In this predicament, he
said indignantly to me, See-urn dis, Cappin!
See-um dis! Cappin, fo' goodness sake, come
take-er-me out. I '11 butt dat co't-ma'sh'l till
um neb' go fishing' or 'coon-huntin' no mo' fo'
a week "
He kept his word. One of his persecutors nar-
rowly escaped severe burns in the cook's fire,
from being butted into the coals while lighting
his pipe. Another was sent sprawling into the
lake by a well-calculated blow from June's
woolly head, while he was washing his platter in
its waters. Another had his senses knocked out
of him, being sent headlong while tying his
shoes; and with all, sooner or later, the ac-
count was squared to June's complete satis-
faction.
The delightful sojourn at Seabrook was only
too short. One morning there was a stir at
headquarters, a riding to and fro of aides-de-
camp, a bustle among the order-
S lies, and the clerks were packing
\ y-C5 up their papers. All of these signs
indicated a move.
Soon came an order to strike
tents and join the main body of
troops, three miles away, with my
detachment. In the excitement
of the move, June was in his glory.
Missing articles were found as
tent floors were taken up, and
the secret avenues were dis-
covered by which he obtained en-
trance to the tents of his enemies.
"Thatinfernal little Nigger June"
was in demand throughout the
camp, but he wisely shouted his
68.) derision from a safe distance.
I employed a stray contraband to carry some
of the lighter and more breakable articles of my
tent furniture, much to the disgust of June, and
the breeding of not a little jealousy in him.
Taking advantage of my being occupied away
from my quarters, the little joker told the fellow
that he must carry my trunk, bedding, camp-

970

[SEPT.

LITTLE CONTRABAND.

chest, and everything else that could be hung
on him load enough for a camel. Upon my
return, I found June in the last contortions of
a laughing convulsion. Following with my eye
his pointing finger, in the direction of our march,
I saw in the distance a moving object resembling
a pack-mule with a huge chest on his back and
side loads reaching to the ground.
See-um, dah,* Cappin ? See-um dat fool nig-
gah? 'Im don't know nuffin' no mo' dan a
punken. Dah he go, totin' de chist, an' trunk,
an' ebbryting. 'Deed, Cappin, guess dat nig-

rotting mussels, through chaparral alive with
stinging insects; across sanded plains, making
the air quiver with burning reflections; amid
blinding, choking, clouds of dust batteries
tugged, cavalry plunged, and infantry trod with
indescribable sufferings. June, alone, seemed
not to mind it. Astride a cannon, mounted on
a caisson, perched behind a mounted soldier, or
trotting alongside my company, his quaint songs
and antics cheered the men and lightened many
a step. Every haversack was open to him;
every canteen was ready to quench his thirst;

JUNE IS TRIED BY COURT MARTIAL.

nah don't run fas' dis time, ef he hol' on to all
he tote! Hi-yah!"
It was not long before it was generally known
that an attack was to be made upon Charleston;
that a march across John's Island to the Stono
River was to be followed by a landing on James
Island, under protection of the gunboats in ren-
dezvous there.
The march commenced; not one who was in
it will ever forget its miseries from its beginning
to its disastrous end. Under a scorching sun,
through the stench of putrid swamps filled with

every hand would be outstretched to give him
a lift over a difficult bit of road.
In the long days and nights that followed, of
murderous work and dangerous duty, nothing
could prevent June from taking part. The most
positive orders would not keep him in camp; no
guard-house was tight enough to hold him. If
I was doing duty with outlying pickets, on re-
connaissance, or in pushing from the front a
.fighting skirmish-line, he would climb a chim-
ney-flue, slip through some chink he had made
or found, dash through a window or dart be-

* "See him there."

971

A LITTLE CONTRABAND.

tween the legs of his guard, and speed away
with unerring scent on my track. A tiny pair
of black legs moving swiftly from tree to tree,
the pop of a woolly head from behind a log, a
glistening of his bright eyes from some jungle,
would give the first knowledge of his presence,

.:V.

75- .'-

JUNE IS IMPRISONED.
and when detected, his laughing greeting always
was, "Lor', Mas'r Cappin, what a time I's done
been hab hunting' you. Woffer you done go 'way
fo', an' lebe-er-me? "
He never allowed himself to be put on the de-
fensive. No one wished to see him hurt, so all
tried to care for him, but it was not possible;
the little fellow, in his faithfulness, felt that it
was his duty to take care of me, so all efforts to
keep him away and in safety were unavailing.
One day, never to be forgotten,-June 16,
1862,-a charge was made upon the Confeder-
ate earthworks at Secessionville, South Carolina,
and six hundred brave men and true were laid
low in front of the defenses. At an early hour
on the morning of that day, I was fastening my
sword about me when June waked up where
he was lying curled up like a dog in the corner
of my tent. I was dressing as quietly as possi-
ble without waking him, well knowing the deadly
work planned for the morning, but his watch-
fulness was as keen as that of a Bedouin of the
desert. He surprised me with the exclama-
tion, Mas'r Cappin, what you gwine to do?
Whar you been going' to? "

He was told, sharply, to lie down and go to
sleep, and I added, "June, if you follow me
to-day, I will stand you on a barrel, with a bay-
onet on each side of you, and make you hold a
piece of ice in each hand until it is all melted."
This was the only punishment for which he
cared a particle, and the threat of it usually set
him to bellowing like an orphaned calf. Strange
to say, on this occasion it produced no marked
effect; he seemed to feel that something of more
than usual importance was taking me out at that
time in the morning, armed and equipped. He
came to me, and in the faint light passed his
hand around my sword-belt to feel whether or
not my revolver was there. I seldom carried
one,-never, indeed, unless there was an almost
certain prospect of its need. When his hand
touched its sheath, he took hold of my coat-
sleeve in a pleading way, and said, Woffer you
go widout Niggah June? Leave 'im go 'long!
'Im git in de bush an' shake his shirt an' keep
de Rebels from shooting' Mas'r Cappin."
With a laugh at his idea of protection, I told
him that I would soon be back all right,-to
stay where he was. I left him looking discon-
solately after me as I went out.

Once in the heat of battle, when shells were
shrieking their horrible death-songs overhead,
when black balls of iron tore their way through
ranks of living men, when grape and canister,
shrapnel and bullets were raining death and
wounds, the smoke lifted, and through the
ragged branches of a hedge in front of me,-not
two hundred yards from the fort,- I thought I
saw a little black demon wildly waving a white
flag.
"June!" I yelled; but the roar and rattle
made my voice no more than the piping of a
child in a storm, and a belch of smoke from the
enemy's guns rolled as a mighty wall between
me and the vision.
Such a battle could not last long. We were
defeated, but the fort was nearly emptied of de-
fenders.
When the wind shook out the air and cleared
it of its smoke and angry trembling, heart-rend-
ing groans went up from that stricken field.
During the hurried gathering of the wounded,
Corporal Russel came to me with face pale, and

972

[SEPT.

890o.]

A LITTLE CC

eyes bloodshot. "Come," said he, "over by
the hedge. June wants you."
I knew what he meant; the vision came back
to me. There little June lay, shot to death. In
one hand he clutched his rag of a shirt; in the
other was my haversack which I had left in my
tent. He tried to laugh when I knelt by him,
as he feebly raised the haversack toward me. I
done fotch you you' breakfast Mas'r Cappin.
Dar 's sumpin to eat an' drink in de habber-
sack. I done shaked my shirt an' kep de rebels
from shooting' Mas'r Cappin. Don' stan' me

)NTRABAND. 973
on de bar'l, an' put col' ice in my han', dis
time!"
He smiled, as he had often done before, when
he knew that he had the better of me, the
haversack fell to the ground, and then, with his
eyes resting upon me as if waiting for an assur-
ance of forgiveness, he died.
We laid him at the end of the long ditch where
lay so many of his friends; and among those
hundreds of graves was one at the head of which
stood a piece of a splintered flagstaff, upon which
a sincere mourner had written, Little June."

r (?rassboppxrs'

/ .

,L O.

By' ML DOG ,AS.
BY MALCOLM DOUGLAS.

FOUR little grasshoppers, one fine day,
Hopped on the lawn to play croquet.
" We can't use mallets and balls," one said,
"But we '11 play a game of our own, instead;
We '11 hop through the wickets ourselves and
see
Whether I beat you or you beat me."

So hippity-hop they went around
Through all the wickets upon the ground,
Till the one who was leading made a jump
And hit the home-stake-bumpity-bump!

Then out came Johnny and Bess to play;
And the four little grasshoppers hopped away.

1,,

* CI-,

J 'I
7

.!" `-*- I

4ZA~ .

s.
: ir

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT.

HEY-DEY What is all this noise about? All
crying to go to school again ? Well, well. This is
a hard case. Thousands and thousands of chil-
dren and no schools open It shall be remedied at
once, my ardent brain-workers and lesson-missers.
Early this month your wish shall be gratified, if
those poor wilted teachers of yours can rise to their
work again.
Meantime let us consider

WHITE AND RED CLOVER.

WHO knows the difference between white and
red clover ?
I do,.I do," you are shouting. "One is red and
the other is white "
Yes. But there is more to say. Now who of
you can say it ?
Next month I will try to tell you of a little girl's
experience in four-leaved clover hunting.

A TAME BUTTERFLY.
NEW YORK.
DEAR JACK-IN-THE-PULPIT: Last September I was
visiting one of my aunts, who lives in Massachusetts.
She had a tame butterfly. One day, early in September,
my aunt was walking in her garden, among the flowers,
when this butterfly lit on her hand. It was a cold day
and my aunt felt sorry for the butterfly, so she brought
it into the house. It was a beautiful, large butterfly,
black, with bright yellow-brown markings. My aunt
kept it in her warm sitting-room. She fed it from her
hand. The butterfly did not seem to care 'to eat
frequently. I think he would eat only once in two or
three days. I saw him fed several times. First, my
aunt put a little bit of moistened sugar on one of her
fingers. After she had caught the butterfly it would
stay on her finger if it wished to be fed, but if not
it would immediately fly away. When it was hungry
it unfolded its proboscis very slowly. Then it would
eat for a long time. My aunt would wet the sugar with

her finger, and when it had finished eating it would fly
away happily.
The butterfly slept on the floor, and my aunt had to
look for it every night, for fear she would step on it.
It lived about nine weeks after she found it.
Yours truly, Lucy S--.
BIRD FLATS.
NEW YORK.
MY DEAR JACK: Some time ago a young reader of
ST. NICHOLAS (who, by the way, has just returned from
a daring exploring expedition in the Grand Cafion of the
Colorado) brought me a curious little two-story house,-
a seaside residence,-and here is a picture of it. A door
on one side furnished exit and entrance to the bottom
floor, but the tenants of the top floor always went in
and out by the skylight. This was an easy matter for the
proprietors, for they were furnished with wings,- the
Colonel and his wife. We called him Colonel because
he wore shoulder-straps, but he was in reality a red-
winged blackbird.
The top nest contained two bluish-green eggs, with
strange hieroglyphic markings on their ends. The
lower story or nest was occupied by a couple of marsh-
wrens.
The occupants of the different floors never interfered
with each other, but lived in amity and peace. This
habit of living in flats is common to a number of different
species of birds, some of which form communities num-
bering hundreds of individuals, all living in one great

structure, divided into as many compartments as there
are families; but, unlike the swamp-blackbird and the
marsh-wren, they do not as a rule live on good terms
with each other, for a busier, noisier, more quarrelsome
set of tenants it would be hard to find,- even in tenement
houses occupied by human beings !
DAN BEARD.

Ou alezr,.v uS 1

A QoeuG-d1u-1boi.

~ ~

e 0 , __---_Y '

jVloi Pato5treu
Pev&-tr'op-rmal-

]NfaPchopS

4gVjwntppe- ; -

Voire Jot7e5tique
Pa5-tpop-mal.

THE BROWNIES' BIRTHDAY DINNER.

BY PALMER COX.

HEN people through
the country planned
To give their public
dinners grand,
The Brownies met at day's decline
To have a birthday banquet fine.
"The proper things," a speaker cried,
"Await us here on every side;
We simply have to reach and take,
And choose a place to boil and bake.
With meal and flour here at hand,
And water rising through the sand,
The Brownie must be dull indeed
Who lacks the gumption to proceed.
We '11 peel the pumpkins ripened well
And scoop them hollow, like a shell,
Then slice them up the proper size
To make at length those famous pies,
For which the people, small and great,
Are ever quick to pass the plate."
This pleased them all; so none were slow
In finding work at which to go.
A stove that chance put in their way
Was put in shape without delay;
Though doors were cracked, and legs were
rare,
The spacious oven still was there,
Where pies and cakes and puddings wide
Might cook together side by side -

The level top, though incomplete,
Gave pots and pans a welcome seat,
Where stews could steam and dumplings found
A fitting place to roll around.
Some lengths of pipe were raised on high
That made the

fly,
soot and cinders

And caused a
draft through-
Sout the wreck
Which door or
damper failed to
check.
-., The rogues who
undertook the
part,
That proves the cook's delightful art,
Had smarting hands and faces red
Before the table-cloth
was spread;
But what cared they at
such an hour
For singeing flame or
scalding shower ?

--- -z

90.] THE BROWNIES' BIRTHDAY DINNER.
Such ills are always counted light
When great successes are in sight. ._ ', ,
There cakes and tarts and cookies fine,
Of both the "leaf" and "notched design, '
Were ranged in rows around the pan
That into heated ovens ran, --
Where, in what seemed a minute's space, i
Another batch would take its place;
While birds, that had secured repose
Above the reach of Reynard's nose,.
Without the aid of wings came down -7 '.

To be at midnight roasted brown.
They found some boards and benches laid
Aside by workmen at their trade,
And these upon the green were placed
By willing hands with proper haste.
Said one, who on the bench reclined:
"All art is not to cooks confined,

And some expertness we can show
As well as those who mix the dough."

And all was as the speaker said;
Indeed, they were some points ahead.
For when the cooks their triumphs showed,
The table waited for its load.

VOL. XVII.-120.

977

THE BROWNIES' BIRTHDAY DINNER.

The knives and forks and dishes white
Through secret methods came to light.
Some space would be required to name
The special moves by which they came;
But kitchen cupboards, three or four,
Must then have yielded up their store;
For round the table every side
The little hands were all supplied.
When people find a carver hacked,
A saucer chipped, or platter cracked,
They should be somewhat slow to claim
That servants are the ones to blame;
For Brownies may have used the ware
And failed to give it proper care.

A few, as waiters, passed about
New dishes as the old gave out,
And saw that plates as soon as bare
Were heaped again with something rare;
No member, as you may believe,
Was anxious such a place to leave,
Until he had a taste at least
Of all the dishes in the feast.
The Brownies, when they break their fast,
Will eat as long as viands last.
The plates were scraped, the kettles clean,
And not a morsel to be seen,
Ere Brownies from that table ran
To shun the prying eyes of man.

THE LETTER-BOX.

CONTRIBUTORS are respectfully informed that, between the st of June and the I5th of September, manuscripts can
not conveniently be examined at the office of the ST. NICHOLAS. Consequently, those who desire to favor the
magazine with contributions will please postpone sending their MSS. until after the last-named date.

Professor John H. Niemeyer, of Yale University, who
illustrated for ST. NICHOLAS the amusing French jingle
on page 975 of this number, writes that, with the kind
permission of the author, the text is taken from the
Contes Merveilleux," by Dr. L. Sauveur.

Lieutenant Robert H. Fletcher, author of Marjorie
and her Papa," requests that "Mildred" who wrote to
Marjorie some time ago, will please send her address,
in care of ST. NICHOLAS.

OAK KNOLL, NAPA CO., CAL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I enjoy reading the letters in the
"Letter-box." I am going to write you about my Califor-
nia home. I have two deer and an Angora goat. I have
a beautiful rustic house and a park for them. I feed
them with apples, potatoes, barley, wheat, and acorns.
My sister has three little squirrels. A woodman was
cutting down a tree, when an old squirrel jumped out of
a nest and ran away; he looked in the nest and found
the three squirrels. He brought them home and an old
cat raised them. He sold them to my father, and he had
the carpenter make a cage for them. My little brother
has some mountain trout and some goldfish we feed with
liver. I remain, your affectionate reader, HARRY.

OGDENSBURG, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My father has a small yacht;
every summer we go up the river to fish, where we stay
three or four days. Last summer we went to Kingston,
Canada. In the morning we left Clayton and had a
pleasant trip. There are a great many islands in this
river, and it is very pretty further up. We reached the
Canadian shore about five miles below Kingston.
Going up the river no one can see Kingston till it is
reached, on account of a high hill. On a point of this
hill near the water is a Martello Tower. As we came
up the river, the scenery around us was very fine, and
when we reached the Canadian shore we could see this
old tower, looking very picturesque. To the northward
is a large fort commanding the city andharbor. As you
enter the harbor the city looks quite imposing. In this
city is a large penitentiary which contains over two thou-
sand convicts. The walls are at least forty feet high, and
quite wide. The guards have little houses on the walls
so that they can watch the convicts. The penitentiary is
close to the water. A man once left his yacht in charge
of one of the convicts. After the man had gone this
fellow and some others took the yacht and ran her over
to the American shore, where they beached her, and then
escaped.
We have a great deal of fun with our yacht; her name
is The Gypsy," and she is very pretty. This river about
which I have been writing is the St. Lawrence.
I am eleven years old, and enjoy reading you very
much. Your devoted reader, RICHARD B. C- .

FULTON, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am going to write and tell you
about my little cousin's fourth birthday. She invited
about fourteen little children to tea. At tea-time they all
marched out to supper in couples. They looked very
cunning, indeed. In the center of the table was a large
"Jack Horner" pie. Perhaps you know what it is, but
in case you don't, I will tell you. There is large tin pan
covered over the top with tissue paper. Inside, the pan
contains a number of presents. And attached to these
presents are ribbons which extend outside. Each child
takes hold of the ribbon and pulls out a present. They
all thought the pie was about the best of the party. Sara,
that is the name of the little girl, got a great many pres-
ents. They played all sorts of games, such as Spat in
and Spat out, Hide the Thimble, and a great many other
games. Yours truly, MARGUERITE C-.

GRIGGSVILLE, PIKE CO., ILL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: My brother Willis (who is
nine years old) and myself have been taking, the ST.
NICHOLAS since January, and we are delighted with it.
I like Crowded Out o' Crofield," and Willis thinks The
Brownies "are so nice! We were very glad the World's
Fair is to come to Chicago, because it is in our own State.
I expect we will go to it in '93. Willis made a kite and a
tail like the one described in the March number, and it flew
real nicely. Yours truly, KATHERINE L. K- .

POUGHKEEPSIE, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have a little story to tell you
that my father told me this morning, and which I hope
will be, interesting enough for you to print. About forty-
two years ago my great-grandfather bought the remnant
of a herd of cows which had come all the way from
Ohio. A sheep that came with them always stayed about
the cow-stables, and when he was hungry he would walk
up to one of the mangers and eat, but, if a cow should
object, he would step back and butt her till she would
step aside. Then he would help himself.
The Poughkeepsie Bridge is completed, and is a very
fine bridge. I must stop. Good-bye.
MARY E. H-

A YOUNG contributor, Matie E. L., sends the follow-
ing story with a moral:
FLORENCE AND HER BROTHER.
HE is an awful boy; he won't do anything to please
me"; and Florence Kibler gave a decided nod and
looked toward her friend, Daisy Edwards.
But," said Daisy, I think you may be as much to
blame as he is; he treated me very kindly."
"Oh, well," said Florence, "you have only been here
two days, but after a while he will treat you just as he
9

THE LETTER-BOX.

does me. There, now. I 've got my room all fixed;
come in while I make his bed," and she started down the
hall that led to her brother's room, and I 'm sure that
you could have told that the room was occupied by a per-
son that did n't care how it looked.
They made up the bed, and then Florence started off.
"You are not going to leave the room looking like
this ? said Daisy.
I don't care how it looks; come on."
"What will your mamma say?"
"She never comes in here; hardly ever, at least."
But, Florence," and Daisy went over and made Flo-
rence sit down. "I think that your brother would n't
act so if you would treat him different. Archie and I
'most always agree, and I do things for him, and he does
them for me; and I think Johnnie would do the same
way. Won't you try?"
Yes, I will try, but it won't do any good," and they
straightened the room all up.
Now, I '1 mend his jacket that he has been teasing
Mamma about. I declare I feel happier any way."
She had just mended the jacket and hung it in his
closet when the tea bell rung. At tea Johnnie said:
Mamma, have you mended my jacket ? "
"No, John, I have been helping your father."
"Who fixed my room up, then ? "
Florence's face turned red as she said, "I mended
your jacket, and Daisy and I fixed your room."
Harry [probably, John] was at the point of saying
something mean, but instead he said: "Thank you "; and
that night Florence received a package, and on opening
it, she found a tiny gold watch and a note saying:
DEAR SISTER: I have been a bad boy, but I will try
and be better. Your brother, JOHN."

WINNETKA, ILL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I am so aged that I can hardly
be called a boy any longer, but I still take you, and intend
to do so until I am gray-headed and have to read your
delightful pages through an old man's spectacles. A
young friend found me reading your last number, and
said contemptuously," Umph! you stillreading ST. NICH-
OLAS? I 've outgrown that kind of thing long ago! "
"Have you ? I replied, the more 's the pity You
don't know all the good things you miss I think no
one should be too old to be young.
I do not believe there ever was a more charming series
than the Stories of Art and Artists," or the papers on
the great musicians," From Bach to Wagner." Dear ST.
NICHOLAS, do give us some more of the same sort! I
read them over and over again, and feel like another fel-
low for days afterward. I never tire of hearing how
those great souls lived and struggled; enjoyed, suffered,
and fought; triumphed and were defeated, just like com-
mon people. It is tiresome to preach and moralize, and
yet I cannot help saying that every boy and girl must be
better and happier after reading the record of those in-
spired lives. For nowhere does one more fully realize
that there is something better than money and worldly
goods, and a power stronger than poverty and suffering
and the contempt of an ignorant multitude. Your faith-
ful friend, ALAN S--

DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I have read your magazine, and
like it very much. I am ten years old, and I came from
England. I have been in America a year and a half.
We took ST. NICHOLAS in England.
For pets I had thirty-two tame mice; I brought one
to America with me, he was brown and white, and called
" Brownie "; he would climb up a pole, beg, and sit up,

and hold a straw in his paws. Last summer I had nine
tame tortoises which I harnessed to carts, and a dog
which I drove. When we were in the country, my sister
taught me to drive. I am very fond of animals.
From your little reader, MARGERY W-.

SJERSEY CITY, N. J.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I dreamed that I was down
on the seashore last night, and saw an oyster and a clam
in bathing, and I have made a picture to show you how
they looked. Here it is. The oyster is crying because
he da's n't go out so far as the clam, and the clam is a-
laughing at him for being a-scared. My papa says he
will write this out plain, so you can read it.
Yours, very much obliged,
FREDDIE W. P., Jr.

DENVER, COL.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: We are little twin sisters who
have enjoyed you for four or five years. Our brother-
in-law has given you to us as a reward for passing our
grades. He could not have thought of anything lovelier
if he had studied for years. We are little orphan girls;
our papa died when we were eight weeks old, and our
dear pretty mamma left us two years ago. We live with
our brother-in-law and sister. We have real good times
together. Last summer we took our first trip East. We
were just wild over the beautiful ocean which we had never
seen before. Our uncle, who is a navy officer, took us
through a man-of-war. This was very interesting for us
little' Rocky Mountain girls who had never seen a big
ship before. This summer we expect to visit Salt Lake.
We shall enjoy bobbing around on the water of the great
Salt Lake, like corks. Dear ST. NICHOLAS, your charm-
ing stories have been the greatest delight to us for years
past, and we hope will be for years and years to come.
Your loving little friends
OLGA AND GENEVIEVE M-.

MADRID, SPAIN.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: As I have not seen in the time
that I have taken your magazine any letter from Madrid,
I have decided to write to you.
Lately, some ladies and gentlemen came to visit Madrid
for the first time, and I was as much surprised of what
they thought of Spain as they were of what really it is.
They seemed to think that we were dressed in the old
Spanish style, that we danced in the streets, and so forth.
Now, as perhaps they may be not the only ones who
have a bad idea of what Spain is, I will try to give you
a right idea of my country. I will not tell you the physi-
cal position of Madrid, its habitants, and so forth; you
can find all that in any geography; I will only tell in
what features Madrid, and all Spain, are different from

980

THE LETTER-BOX.

other countries. First: In the dress, the gentlemen
wear capas, or cloaks of cloth. Of course they wear more
the overcoats ; and the ladies the mantilla, or that thing
of lace which they put on their heads; though I must
say that now they nearly do not wear it at all. Second:
In the carts drawn by six or seven mules, put one before
the other in a line; and third: In the corridas de toros,
or bull-fights, and this is nearly all. In all the rest Spain
is like all the other countries, and excepting Sevilla,
which keeps many of the old Spanish dresses and fea-
tures, you can find in all the cities of Spain the same
progress as in France, England, and other countries.
Now I must tell you something. You must have often
heard that in the old times, here in Spain, the chulos
used to throw the capa before a young lady so that she
would step upon it; this gallant custom has been changed
into the annoying one that nearly all the common men
have and sometimes also the well-educated young men, to
call you in your face beautiful, graceful, and so forth, or
say something about your eyes, your feet, and so forth.
We call this sayings, "to throw flowers "; but indeed I
would have called it to throw thorns, it is so very silly
and annoying.
I must close, as my letter is getting too long; but
before I want to tell you how much I enjoy your charm-
ing magazine. Papa reads some of your articles, but
what he is always admiring is your beautiful engravings.
All your readers tell you which story they like best;
my favorite, this year, is "May Bartlett's Stepmother."
And now, asking you to excuse my many faults, as you
must remember that I am Spanish,
I remain, your reader, CARMEN.

AMENIA, N. Y.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: I read "Flower Ladies" in
your August number.
When I was a little girl I had no girl friends to play
with, as I lived on a small farm. I was very fond of
playing school, so I improvised a way to play school by
myself. I took daisies, cutting the stems off about an
inch from the flower, and stood them on their petals.
My school was always a girl's seminary.
Little daisies served as students, and large ones as
teachers; and they looked very neat in their white dresses
and green aprons.
I generally had a few aristocratic scholars. For these
I took wild morning-glories. Splitting the blossom up
the front made the pink part hang back like a train.
These were princesses and little ladies, who looked gay
in pink dresses with trains and no aprons.
I spent many happy hours with my daisy school, and
I am surprised to find that so few other children have
played with flower dolls.
My mother says that she used to play with flower
ladies when she was a child.
Hoping that this letter may be put in your Letter-
box," I remain, your faithful reader, KITTIE C- .

BALTIMORE, MD.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : We are two little girls who live
very near each other, and are very intimate. We have
taken you for a long time, and we always are very anx-
ious for the next number to come out. We think the
nicest pieces in this number are, "Marjorie and her
Papa," Crowded Out o' Crofield," Lady Jane," The
Bunny Stories," and the funny piece about the Chinese
Giant." We have never written to you before, and we
don't see many letters from Baltimore in the ST. NICH-
OLAS. We think the nicest story we have ever read is
" Little Lord Fauntleroy," and we expect to go to see the

play before long. Good-bye, dear old ST. NICHOLAS,
we remain, ever your interested readers,
ELEANOR O. AND MAY W.

COMPTON, CANADA.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS : As I have not seen many letters
from Canada in your magazine, I thought I would write
one. I am a little girl not quite fourteen years old, and
I have three brothers, and live in the country. In the
summer we go driving, play tennis, croquet, and other
games. In the evenings we have music, cards, reading,
and sometimes private theatricals.
I have only taken your delightful magazine since Christ-
mas, but I like it very much. We all, from Grandpa
down to my youngest brother, read and enjoy it.
I am always impatient for the new number to come. I
am very much interested in Lady Jane and Crowded
Out o' Crofield." Mamma and I both enjoyed the story
of May Bartlett's Stepmother," andwe all laughed over
"Mark Twain's Letter to Elsie Leslie Lyde," and
thought it would make such a good piece for an evening
reading. Your devoted reader, GRACE W. K- .

FORT BRIDGE, WYOMING.
DEAR ST. NICHOLAS: Not long ago you had a letter
from an army girl. I am an army boy, and as we move
very often, I see many strange sights.
Last year we traveled from northeastern Utah to north-
eastern Wyoming, camping on the way twenty-five nights.
One day we went in a buckboard to see some strange
formations called bad lands "; not a spear of grass or
any living thing can be found there, only queer mounds
of sand and rock twisted and rolled together by the wind,
so scientific men, who have seen them, say.
Huge bones are dug up in these cliffs bones of ani-
mals that died many ages since. While we were in these
bad lands a sand storm came up and we had to crawl into
a little cave to keep from being suffocated; as it was,
our eyes and ears were filled with sand.
We arrived home very tired, having ridden over thirty
miles. From your loving reader,
LEIGHTON, R. C-.

GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN.
EACH of the following questions may be answered by
the name of an old-fashioned flower. Example: An old
cathedral town and the music often heard there. Answer,
Canterbury-bells.
I. The pride of the farmer. 2. The pride of the farm-
er's wife. 3. To break suddenly, and a fabulous monster.
4. A Christmas green, and a kind of wine. 5. A delicate
color. 6. A vehicle, and where it will take you. 7.
Who parted from his Black-eyed Susan ? 8. A griev-
ing lady. 9. One of the united states. o1. A foreign
country, and starwort. I. My first wears my second on
her foot. 12. My first is a sly animal that could not pos-
sibly wear my second. 13. The school-boy's delight in
winter. 14. A girl's pretty name, and the color of her
hair. 15. An old dog. 16. A singing bird, and some-
thing worn by horsemen. 17. An unmarried man, and
something he often finds missing. 18. Children love
my first, and wish it grew on every second. 19. The
mother of Meleager. 20. The peep o' day. 21. A
crustacean, and the cause of much discord. 22. Apollo's
favorite. 23. Buxom Elizabeth. 24. Sagacious. 25. Pre-
cise, and a pretty flower. 26. An animal slides. 27. What
Hero said. 28. A compartment in a theater. 29. A royal
plume. 30. A great dandy. 31. Remember me. 32. A
weapon, and to coin. 33. Wise men followed me. 34. An
insect of the class Arachnida, and unfermented beer.
35. My first adorns a bonnet, and my second a lawn.
36. A wise man, and a stamp. 37. A tattered tar. 38. A
beautiful youth who became enamored of his own image.
39. A conveyance, and a great community of men. 40.
What Hamlet said was "out of joint." 41. A ferocious
beast, and the emblem of innocence. 42. A Roman

THE zigzags from I to Io spell the name of a battle
fought on September II, 1777; the zigzags from Ir to
20 spell the name of one fought on September 19 of the
same year.
CROSS-WORDS : I. Obstructions. 2. A liquid often
used by dentists. 3. A small bird common in Europe.
4. Free from pain. 5. Footstalks of flowers. 6. Por-
tions of the face. 7. A valuable kind of grass which is
cultivated for fodder. 8. To alleviate. 9. Apparent.
Io. To reckon. G. F.
PI.
BESTERMEP wrests het nowdaldo ore
Hwit mayn a triblinla crool;
Hte dowlr si trigbrhe tanh boreef,
Hyw doshlu rou starhe eb rulled ?

984 THE RIDDLE-BOX.

AN AXIOM IN AXIOMS.

BY taking one word from each of the following sen-
tences, an axiom may be formed relating to the last day
but one in September.
I. Weigh right, if you sell dear.
2. You cannot catch old birds with chaff.
3. Eat to live, but do not live to eat.
4. Sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander.
5. Lookers on see more than players.
6. So many days old the moon is at Michaelmas, so
many floods thereafter.
7. The longest day must have an end.
8. Look before you leap.
9. Where there 's a will there 's a way.
o1. It is never too late to mend.
II. Wealth is best known by want.
12. The love of money is the root of all evil.
13. All is not gold that glitters.
14. Long is the arm of the needy.
15. A pin a day is a groat a year.
16. Round by round we climb the ladder of life.
ILLUSTRATED ACROSTIC.

EACH of the seven objects may be described by a word
of five letters. When these are rightly guessed, and
placed one below the other in the order in which they
are numbered, the initial letters, reading downward,
will spell a word describing the central picture.

DIAGONAL PUZZLE.

EACH of the words described contains six letters.
When rightly guessed, and placed one below the other,
the diagonals, beginning at the upper left-hand letter,
will spell the name of one of Job's friends.
I. The surname of a man who wrote a famous allegory.
2. The surname of an English author who was mortally
wounded at the battle of Zutphen. 3. The surname of
a very famous English poet. 4. The surname of the

poet laureate in 1670. 5. The surname of a distinguished
Scottish poet who was first a barber and then abookseller
in Edinburgh. 6. The surname of an English poet now
living, who was born in 1832. ANNA W. ASHHURST.

WORD-SQUARE.

I. PROFIT. 2. The goddess of the hearth. 3. Beasts
of burden used in Eastern countries. 4. Notes, or memo-
randa. 5. A rope with a noose. MAUDIE AND PAPA.

I 'VE naught to do with past or future hours,--
The living present occupies my powers;
Yet though with what is past I 've no connection,
My time is ever spent in grave reflection,
The true results of which to man I show,
Knowledge surpassing all,- himself to know.
Moreover, I 'm that power "the gift can gie him
To see himself precise as others see him."
And if from folly it would set him free,
Happy would prove his intercourse with me.
But, ah! too oft the contrary result
Is seen in those who freely me consult.
No boastful wealth, nor loftiest pedigree
Ere won a smile of flattery from me.
And yet 't is wondrous how with each and all
I promptly sympathize who on me call:
Tears to the sad I give, smiles to the gay,'*
Nor from the humblest object turn away.
But while I seem to be thus near perfection,
Occurs to me, alas I the sad reflection
That I from guilt am still not wholly free,
Yet it is guilt imputed rests on me;
Which, when this little life of mine is o'er,
Will, with my mouldering frame, be seen no more.
C. L. M.
AN OCTAGON.